


All Things Come in Threes

by alkhale



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Childhood Friends, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Jealousy, M/M, Omega Verse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love, happy moments and sad moments, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 52,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkhale/pseuds/alkhale
Summary: Atsumu and Osamu Miya are needy, self-centered, ambitious, and festering headaches that threaten to run you up the wall or over a cliff.But becoming friends with them is one of the only things in life you don't regret, and you intend to keep it that way. Up until you're a wrinkly old grandma, a proud friend clapping at their wedding, or even on your deathbed, hit by some random truck in the middle of the street, smiling happily because, hey, they were assholes but great friends. The three of you know everything about each other, inside and out.The only thing you don't know is how close they both toe that fine, fragile line you've created, ready to shatter everything you've ever known.(And the Miya twins have never been great sports at losing.)Or—All things come in threes. Bad things, good things, and everything else in-between.The three of you were never an exception to that either.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Reader, Miya Atsumu/Reader/Miya Osamu, Miya Osamu/Reader
Comments: 330
Kudos: 1862
Collections: Romance for bad days





	1. one, two, three

**Author's Note:**

> I think there's something about writing for Haikyuu characters in the omegaverse that's honestly so much fun if you have a little bit of fun spinning the usual tropes around or exploring some things with a/b/o dynamics. I can't seem to stop.
> 
> If you're new to the stories, welcome! I hope you enjoy this and the writing and have a great time! Thank you so much for clicking on this. If you're old and coming over from Instinct, HEYA AHAHAHAHA LOOK AT THIS DUMBASS WRITING ANOTHER ONE. This one definitely won't be as long as I plan for Instinct to be, maybe darker in different aspects, but please have fun and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Thank you again for giving it a click, hope you enjoy!
> 
> I do not own Haikyuu!

(Page 1)

Things always come in threes.

This is an ironclad rule of thumb you discover very early into your life.

At four years old, unfittingly.

Your mother is the first one to tell you this. She explains it to you in the middle of the night, bent on her knees as she stuffs all of your meager clothes and belongings into a duffel bag the two of you will share. You’d been slowly helping her gather items in the room the two of you shared with your father, a bit reluctant even though she kept rushing you, telling you to hurry (but you didn’t _wanna_ go, why were you guys going?) She only took the necessities, swiping items left and right in a process that didn’t make much sense to you.

“Mama, why do we hafta leave?”

She didn’t once stop her packing, dumping a drawer of socks into the bag. You handed her the box of toiletries. “Because this place is no good anymore.”

You consider her words, crouching down beside her as you watch her pack. Your mother doesn’t once spare you a glance, a woman on a mission as she grabs a blanket, stuffing it into the duffel. There’s a carry-on sized suitcase already full of the rest of your things and food from the cupboards. An electric hot water machine, some utensils, and a handful of other items are shoved in there too. 

“Cause of papa?” you ask. She nods. “Okay.”

You don’t completely want to leave, only cause it seems like a pain, but you think you might get it. Your father tends to switch from that loud, roaring voice of his that booms across the walls and hurts your ears to a soft, happy man that laughs, tossing you into the air. He promises trips to the beach and the amusement park and sometimes he follows through. The days he follows through are fun, so it’s only the memory of those kinds of days that make you hesitant.

But...

Leaving seems like it will be much more fun than watching your father toss another coffee table across the room or letting him pet your hair and tell you how much he loves you when your mother glares at him from the otherside of the dining table, cheek swelling. 

(You kinda hate the way he smells.)

You don’t know why your father hits your mother. He doesn’t hit her in threes, but his attacks do come in threes. Then he takes a break and the cycle starts again after he does another three nice things. It might be because he’s just an angry person, or maybe your mother and him just can’t get along. He’s a bully though, technically, if your vocabulary is right.

(You are never excluded from this cycle.)

“Will somethin’ bad happen after this too?”

Your mother does stop for once at that. She looks at you, closely, carefully. To this day, your memories of her expression are blurred—you were a kid after all—but you do remember what she says to you and how she holds your arms, tight, with an iron force. You remember her scent, the warmest, the fiercest it has ever been for someone of her tiny stature. 

“No,” she says. “Because things only come in threes.” You perk up in interest. “Papa hit me last week. He broke the mirror yesterday. That’s two bad things that have happened to you, right? Now we’re moving. This is the third.”

She strokes the light purple streak on your cheek, “Nothing bad will happen after this.”

“Three?” you repeat.

“Three,” she affirms. “Always three. Got it, baby?”

You nod. She grins at you and shoves your box of toys your way, pointing as she resumes her rapid packing. “Pick three. Pick them good, okay?”

You freeze, suddenly weighed with the horribly heavy responsibility of choice. Your eyes bulge, carefully dragging over each and every toy in the box. It’s a meager box, not even halfway full, but there’s more than three toys so that still means you have to choose to leave something behind. You worry at your bottom lip, brows furrowed in deep concentration as your mother digs through your father’s drawers.

She finds what she’s looking for, scoffing at the thick cashier box. You squat down, carefully inspecting each toy and lifting them up to the light while your mother loudly tosses the box against the wall. It bursts open with a _clang_ you ignore as she gathers up the wads of bills, stuffing pachinko tickets into a bag and throwing that into the duffel.

“Need help, hun?” your mother asks, looking over at you as she rips one of your father’s shirts out of spite. You shake your head, finally pulling three items from the box.

She comes over, standing over your shoulder and observing your choices.

The first is a beaten up manga you never got a chance to return to the local library, the third volume of the series. You wouldn’t be returning it anyway and you liked the story, so you figured why not. Your mother always told you to grow up smart so bad things wouldn’t happen to you. The second is a deflated ball that would need to be pumped up.

The third and final toy is a beaten up fox plush, soft and knitted—your mother made it for you when you were born—faded a bit to a softer orange. A good wash would bring it back to its original charm, but the color would still be light.

Your three treasures.

Your mother eyes each item, lingering on the fox before she rubs your head, pinching your cheek. She grabs all your meager belongings, stuffing them into the duffel but giving you the fox to hold. In seconds she has you bundled up in extra layered coats to save space in the suitcase and then she shoves your mittens on, waiting for you in the _genkan_ as you tie your laces over your scuffed up sneakers and come to stand beside her.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say, taking her hand.

It was snowing the night you and your mother left your father. And cold. You’ll always remember how damn, _damn_ cold it was.

(Page 2)

“Okay, hun,” your mother says, the two of you standing in front of the door to the landlord’s office. “Third time’s the charm, right?”

You nod dutifully, a bit excited to see the rule of threes play its magic. It took the two of you three long train rides and transfers to make it to the other side of Tokyo, staying in three different capsule hotels while your mother searched for a more temporary residence. Most complexes wouldn’t allow the two of you to stay without a larger deposit, and your mother needed a month-to-month deal until she found a better job.

(You understand later why it’s so hard for your mother to find a job. Not just because she was a woman. Never just because of one gender.)

Your mother stares hard at the door. She fingers your hand, squeezing it tighter. Thoughts are going across her faces in flickering shadows that make it hard for you to read.

“Three,” you say to her.

She looks down at you for a long moment before dropping your hand. You blink, watching as she ties her hair up and lets it sweep beautifully to the side, showing the long, silk column of her neck. Your mother is one of the prettiest people you’ve ever seen, and you don’t just say that because she’s your mom. She picks your hand back up and smiles, opening the door.

(Page 3)

“I-I’m sorry, miss, we’ll need a deposit first to rent you the room,” the landlord says. Your mother’s face remains determined as she faces him, never relenting as he shuffles papers over and over. “I… We can’t do it monthly because it causes problems with the contracts. After at least three months, we can move to monthly.”

“I need one month,” your mother says.

“But miss, that’s essentially no deposit at all—”

Your mother gently strokes the side of her neck, letting her fingers drift down to the blank expanse of her collarbone. It’s creamy like silk, no longer spotted with bruises. The landlord pauses, following the trail of her fingers and nervously darting to the gorgeous column of her neck and then to her eyes, where your mother knowingly watches him back.

He quietly sniffs the air. You look up at the sound from the travel magazine you were skimming through. Your mother bats her long lashes and offers him a warm, gentle smile. You love that smile.

You experimentally sniff the air. It smells like flowers. You like this smell on your mother too.

“I think,” your mother says. “We can do a deposit after all. Five months worth?”

The landlord adjusts his tie, nervously scratching the back of his neck before he nods at your mother. She smiles, all teeth, eyes shining at him.

You take the travel magazine with you as you and your mother leave the office. It has really pretty pictures of places in Kansai you’d like to visit one day. A whole prefecture filled with deer—deer! Who let them roam around like that?

Your mother hoists you into the air, laughing as you both shout “three!” and race to your new room.

(Page 4)

Things come in threes.

The big lady draped in furs and shimmering makeup on the screen during a fortune telling segment that comes on late at night is the next person to tell you about this rule of threes.

It’s on one of the nights where your mother would leave the television on for you to block out noise until you fall asleep, setting up a bed for you on the couch in the living room while she would talk to someone in the bedroom until morning.

You don’t really have the heart to tell your mother she always turns the volume up too loud, so you usually just bite your tongue, eat convenience store snacks and sit through the random churn; of Japanese tele-dramas, anime, sports recaps, commercials you know by heart and then finally, the last, loudest segment of all—

Madame Fortuna’s Fortune Forecast.

You were amused at the segment for all its colors and the cool, tacky theme they did at the beginning. Madame Fortuna herself is audacious and colorful, so you can’t help but watch her too. 

(When you grow a few more years, you like it because the fat lady on the screen, covered in furs and yet still oozing with some kind of audacious prowess is honestly your best friend throughout long nights, companion, and closest confidant.)

Her advice makes sense.

 _Out of money?_ “Get a job!” Madame Fortuna would say.

 _Trouble in paradise?_ “Confront the problem and fix it!” 

You didn’t know what that meant but if there was trouble anywhere, you should fix it, so Madame Fortuna was pretty accurate.

Sometimes people call in with problems— “I think he’s cheating.” “Ah, child, then I will tell you your fortune… yes, check the closet.” And lo and behold, the caller would reveal a new pair of lingerie (you didn’t know what that was but it was something “scandalous” apparently) in their lover’s closet. 

_“Three!”_ Madame Fortuna would say. _“Three is the magic, fortune number! Never doubt the power of three!”_

You dropped your egg sandwich, blinking at the screen with wide, shining eyes.

Madame Fortuna might’ve looked gaudy, but she was frighteningly…. _Powerful._ Her predictions were apparently on the dot for many and she left you hanging off the edge of the couch, watching in rapt attention. Then she would go on to deliver the daily fortune for the following day.

One night, a caller phones into the show with an issue you haven’t heard yet. It’s different from the lovers' quarrels, the hopeless job interviews, the worries about life or mid-life crisis (your mother praises you each morning, staring in wonder over her spoon of yogurt how much you’re learning about weird things)—it’s on the stranger side.

 _“I’m a beta,”_ the caller says quietly. Madame Fortuna lowers one of her furs and listens. _“I… I’ve never had much to complain with just that. I know I should be grateful for anything in life, but… the person I love is an omega. She’s better off with an alpha, someone who can really take care of her… but I…”_

These are terms you’ve never heard before. You blink curiously at the television screen, sitting closer. No, maybe you’ve heard them before. Once or twice, leaving your mother or father’s lips—where else? School? 

_“Dear,”_ Madame Fortuna says. _“Are you listening?”_

_“...yes.”_

_“I tell fortunes,”_ Madame Fortuna says. _“I use the stars to help guide your life. Things like second genders, such silly, silly things like that are engraved in stone, not the stars. Are you with me dear?”_

 _“Yes,”_ the caller says, softer, heartbroken. You frown, touching the screen, silently rooting for the caller.

 _“But these things are set in stone,”_ Madame Fortuna says. _“Will never change. The same way you being born on a certain day does not change. The color of your eyes do not change. These unchangeable things are not things to worry about_ because _they cannot be changed. What_ you _should be focused on instead are the things you can change right now.”_

The caller is silent and Madame Fortuna races on, slapping her table, shaking the glass ball, “ _Do you understand? You and that woman you love_ — _that is something you can change. The things between our legs, on our chests, in our genetics_ — _they do not define us. The things in your heart, dear, your heart! Yes, these define you. These can be changed.”_

You stare at the screen, all the colors from the show illuminating your small face in the darkness of the living room.

Madame Fortuna stares straight into the screen, pointing a long, bright purple fingernail.

_“You can always change.”_

(Page 5)

“Mama, what are second genders?”

Your mother stops in the middle of marking job openings in the newspaper. A small kettle is on the stove, steam slowly beginning to roll out of the mouth but not quite boiling yet. You stand beside the table, playing with the edge of your shirt, waiting for her response. 

She stares at her paper for a long, long time, focusing on the red marks before she calmly looks at you.

“Second genders,” your mother says, nonchalant. “Where’d you hear about those?”

You point at the television playing the news.

Your mother follows your finger. She considers it for a moment, eyeing the news reporter discussing how a young man was now rising up in the entertainment industry despite adversity for his status as an omega.

(You wouldn’t snitch on Madame Fortuna like that.)

She scoffs at the news, turning down the volume and finally turning back to you. “They’re stupid for starters, remember that. Take a seat, hun.”

You blink, curiously taking a seat at the small table only big enough for two. Your mother taps her pen on another part of the paper. “When we’re born, we normally are either a boy or girl, right? Like how you’re a girl.”

You nod. Your mother laughs, “Well, there’s more to it than being boy or girl, but you can worry about that later. Now, aside from that, we’re also born with what people call a second gender. It’s either beta, omega, or alpha.”

She draws out the symbols for you and you study them, nodding. “Depending on which one you’re born with, it can… change who you are as a person.” You look up quickly at the word _change_. “How you act. Your body. More stuff mama will tell you later. They’ll talk about it in school too, but don’t worry about it until your teachers bring it up, okay?”

You nod obediently, staring at the symbols. “...we can’t change those, right?”

Your mom smirks, “Yeah, that’s right. Girl or boy is something you can change if you try hard enough. Second genders you can’t.”

You mull over your mother’s words. _But… they change you? How does that work? Which one is the best kind of change then?_

“Which one’s the best?” you ask.

Your mother frowns at the paper. She taps her pen against it, staring at the three symbols, looking back up at you for what feels like hours before she finally circles the one in the middle.

“Beta,” your mother says. “Betas are the best. Most people in the world are betas, you should hope you’re one too.”

You digest her words with care. The caller had been a beta. You didn’t mind rooting for someone like that. “What about the other two?”

“People will tell you alphas are the best,” your mother says, crossing out the alpha symbol. “That they’re the cream of the crop—remember what that means?” You nod. “But they’re not. Alphas are losers too. Your dad was an alpha.”

The two _click_ in place for you. You nod quietly at your mother, bringing your hands down to your lap. Your mother stares at you, something crossing over her features before she sits back and grabs a pudding cup she’d been hiding for you, pushing it your way. You perk up, grabbing the plastic spoon as she smiles, resuming her job search.

“Which one are you, mama?”

Without hesitating your mother taps the last symbol. “Mama’s an omega.”

You chew the pudding around your spoon, staring at her curiously, “What do you think about omegas?”

Your mother’s lips quirk. She scribbles the symbol over without any mercy, not even looking up from the job section. “Omegas are losers too.”

“Mama, you’re not a loser.”

“Thanks, hun.”

You glumly realize you’ve got a one out of three shot of not being a loser. _Oh. Three. Look at that._

“Mama,” you say. “Your fortune is good today. I think you’ll find a job.”

Your mother looks up in interest. “Oh, yeah? Well, third time’s the charm, right?”

(Page 6)

Your mother lands the job. An entry level secretary that forces her away from the house more and brings less strangers home to her room (you still stay up for Madame Fortuna) but she seems happy with it so you are too. She looks refreshed so you feel refreshed.

She enrolls you into the local elementary school, sending you off with a brand new backpack and a pair of shoes. She follows you all the way to the train station in her new office attire, waving the entire way as she watches you hop backwards up the stairs to wave back at her until a station guard warns you to be careful.

You guys haven’t had a chance to buy a pump for the ball yet, but you’ll work on that later. 

You’re a pretty fun, chatty kid who doesn’t stand out too much in class, so you get along quickly with others around you, blending right into the crowd. Your mother beams when you study hard at the dining table, eager to catch up to your classmates. The two of you even start to acquire more things; some new clothes, a new coffee table, and a _kotatsu._ You love the kotatsu.

You count the things on your finger during school one day—a new house, a job for your mother, and now you get to go back to school.

You grab your three fingers, grinning.

(Page 7)

You and your mother live three solid, happy years on the other side of Tokyo before your mother opens the door one evening to a familiar smell.

It seems it took your father three years to hunt the two of you down in the bustling, wild city. He comes in a maelstrom of fury and anger. Things break. Your small room floods with his putrid scent. The police come.

Three bad things happened that night. It becomes the only night you miss Madame Fortuna’s segment.

You’re seven when you and your mother pack up, taking three even longer trains until the two of you arrive in the Hyogo Prefecture.

It’s there in Hyogo too, that the three of you finally meet.

(Page 8)

The apartment complex is a bit weird in your opinion.

It’s small, which isn’t the weird part. It’s run-down and strangely dinky looking, which isn’t really weird either. The rent is cheap, they do monthly payments instead of hefty deposits, it’s in a decent location with a school not too far away, your mother had been eyeing help wanted signs in the shopping district and there’s a cool, old bath house located right on the right of the apartment building, closest to where you and your mother will stay. The landlord is a stern older lady but she’s not _that_ mean and seems keen on keeping your mother in check but fond of her. You and your mother even get separate rooms, which has never, ever happened.

The only _weird_ thing about the apartment is that it’s missing a third floor. It shouldn’t even matter to you because you’re on the first floor, smack dab in front of the street and right across from a row of houses that start the neighborhood area. But it does!

“The builder of the place didn’t like the number three,” your mother shrugs, lifting another box and kicking the door open. “Just skipped it.”

You’re in _love_ with the number three, so it hurts your heart a bit, but you settle for the fact that this is the third place you and your mother have tried and it worked out this time. Your rule of threes has come for you once more.

You stand in front of your new home, examining it from the middle of the street. A large white band aid is stuck to your right cheek, another one wrapped around your forehead and neck, making you look a bit silly. Your small arms are wrapped tightly around the box of your own belongings—your three treasures still proud by your side—and you turn your head sideways, trying to look at it from every angle.

Well, even if it doesn’t have a third floor, you still decide you like it. It’s cheap after all!

“Atsumu, stop _pushin’_ you’re gonna knock us over!”

“Shut up! Yer the fat one hoggin’ all the space!”

You blink, turning around.

For a moment you wonder if you were seeing double.

The two boys blink owlishly back at you, arms hanging over the top wall of the front of their house. They’re essentially identical, in hair and features and eyes. Even expressions. You rub your eye a bit and make sure there _are_ two of them and realize, yeah, there are because their hair parts are the only thing different about them. They’re two, sturdy looking kids with dark brows that remind you of a shrine fox’s. Black hair cropped close to their head along their neck before flops of soft hair layers across in bangs. 

Your new neighbors.

The two black haired boys look at each other and then back at you, still staring. You meet their gaze evenly, holding your box of things with your fox plushie sticking its head out. Your eyes drop to just below the boys’ chins where their family name is plastered neatly and nicely on their wall.

Miya.

“Boys! Where did the two of you—Atsumu! Osamu! Are you two spyin’ again? I said stop bothering our neighbors!”

“(Y/n)! Come check it out, we have a backyard!”

The two boys _urk_ , paling at what sounds like their mother’s booming voice from inside their house. It’s a nice one, you notice. You turn your head back to your apartment door, shuffling the big box in your arm. You spare the twins one last look, offering them a toothy grin before you waddle back to your apartment.

“You brats! Get off that wall right now!”

Osamu shoves Atsumu, jumping down first so he doesn’t get in trouble. His brother squawks, grabbing his ankle as he falls. Osamu hurriedly runs to their mom, grabbing her pant leg. “Mom, a mummy moved in next door.”

“A _what_? Atsumu, get off the floor!”

“ _Moooom_.”

(Page 9)

It takes three meetings before the three of you ever say anything to each other.

The move-in was the first. The second run-in comes more with their mother than with them.

“Oh, hello dear!”

You stop in the middle of your tracks, looking up with curious eyes. Three heavy grocery bags hang off your arms, one on either shoulder, making you look pretty stupid while you heft the third in front of you. There was a great sale at the grocery market today and your mother coached you through everything you’d need to buy while she shot off to go job hunting.

“Buy two, get one free!” your mother shouted, running off after handing you the wallet. “Three!”

A bundle of leeks stabs your cheek and you nudge it aside. You managed to score three packs of pudding cups. One for you, one for your mom, and you two could wrestle for the last one.

A bright, beaming woman stands before you, right outside the house wall where the twin boys had been watching you and your mother move in. She has dark black hair pulled into a high bun and equally dark eyes. She’s a vibrant, energetic looking woman and you figure this must be the same woman who hollered from what sounded like the second story.

“I was just grabbing some mail,” she says. “I’ve only gotten a chance to meet your mother. I’m Miya Mina, honey. It’s nice to meet you.”

You turn on your feet, bowing politely to her. “Hello, Miya-san. I’m (L/n) (Y/n.)”

A leek threatens to slide out of your bag and Mina quickly shoves it back inside before you notice. You straighten back up, hefting your bags closer. Mina smiles warmly at you, “Aren’t you the cutest? I’ve always wanted a girl! Ended up havin’ my hands full with two boys instead.”

“They’re cute kids,” you say. Mina laughs, slapping her mail against her chest.

“Look at you! Mature _and_ adorable. How old are ya, honey?”

“Seven,” you say.

“My Atsumu and Osamu are turning seven this year!” she says. “You must be a few months older. How is the move treatin’ you and your mama?”

“Well,” you say. “Thanks for asking. Please let us know if there’s ever anything we can do to help you.”

Mina almost seems to swoon on her feet, utterly infatuated with you. “Gosh, lookin’ at you really makes me think about tryin’ for a girl again! Their papa is too rowdy, so maybe another kid will do ‘im good, huh?”

“If he’s a bit rowdy, you should keep him on his toes and tire him out,” you say, quoting Madame Fortuna’s advice to a similar issue. “Don’t expand your family unless you really want it too. Sometimes you love what ya have too much for more.”

Mina stares at you, eyes bulging from her head, her jaw falls open. The mail in her hands slips to the floor.

You stare at it awkwardly, not really able to pick it up with all your items but you try anyway, barely managing to grab it between your fingertips while she still stares, frozen like she’s short circuited. You remember your mama telling you to be nice to your neighbors unless they weren’t nice to you and how she mumbled about gifts, so you fish for a three-set pudding cup pack, handing it politely to Mina.

The older woman takes it with numb fingers, still blinking in confusion. You bow again, “Please take care of us. Thank you very much.”

Mina is left gaping at the front of her house while you calmly make the few steps it takes to make it across the small street to your own front door. You walk a bit past the Miya household’s front entrance and blink, staring back at two pairs of identical eyes with their heads shoved obscenely out the front door, eavesdropping and staring owlishly at you.

Atsumu and Osamu. You kinda wonder which one is which.

The two boys blink at you. You’ve still got the bandages around your head and neck and on your cheek too. You stare back for a moment before using your shoulder to use the leek to wave at them. One of them spits, breaking out into laughter that has the other shoving him and shouting something.

You make it to your front door—only a few feet from their own front entrance—and prop the door open with a shoe as you shuffle the bag. Hurried shouts and rushed screeching comes from behind you and you frown, half-turning as Mina disappears and—

“No, mom, don’t grab that one!”

“This one. This one.”

“I can’t give them that, ya idiots!”

“Here, mom, this one too!”

“Oh, you brats get back to your room! You have summer homework to finish!”

“Aw, mom!”

You’re about to slip back into your apartment when Mina rounds the corner of the front wall, quickly waving you down. You awkwardly stop, holding it open as she hurries to you and pants quickly handing you a big, bursting plastic bag. “For you and yer mama! We’re glad to have you!”

You nod in thanks. Mina beams, wiping sweat from her brow and rushing back to her house. You watch her for a bit before closing the door, taking a seat on the ledge of the genkan and observing the contents inside.

It’s a melon. You blink. You and your mom haven’t had a melon in a long time. There’s also a rice ball thrown inside and a bag of chips that makes you wonder if they were supposed to be there in the first place or were tossed in—and all of these items sit next to a big roll of sports tape.

You sit there in the genkan, staring at the items before quietly bringing them inside. You arrange the melon on the altar the way your mother showed you, setting the rice ball down next to it beside the bag of corn chip snacks. 

You take the sports tape back to your room, setting it down on your little nightstand.

(Page 10)

The third time the three of you encounter is one week after the second, and you’re no longer sporting bandages on your head or neck. The big plaster on your cheek is replaced with a small, ball patterned bandage instead. You’re shoving your shoes on in the genkan, ready for a thorough day of exploring the neighborhood when your mother stops you in your tracks.

“Honey, should we toss this out?”

You quickly look up at her words, a bit of a hoarder yourself. You blink with scandalized eyes as your mother holds up the dirty, deflated ball you’ve been toting around since your first move—one of you specially chosen treasures. 

You gape at your mother, betrayed.

“I’m sorry!” she says. “But look at it. It’s all dirty and messed up, and we still haven’t found a pump for it yet. How about we toss it and I’ll buy you a new one, okay?”

She squints at the sad thing. “What kind of ball even is this?”

You hop up from the genkan, grabbing it from her fingers. “I’ll find a pump! I’ll ask the landlady while I explore.”

Your mother doesn’t look convinced, but she lets you take the dirty deflated ball anyway. You beam at her, tucking it under your arm and hurrying out in your shorts and shirt. “Good luck job hunting. Third times the charm!”

“Third times the charm,” she agrees, watching you leave.

When the door closes behind you, you carefully examine the dirty ball, frowning at it. You remember tossing it around and kicking it too, but you’re not even sure you remember what ball it is under all that grime and abuse. 

_What would Madame Fortuna say?_

_“Fix your own problems, you deadbeat loser!”_

You straighten, quickly hurrying around the side of your apartment with your deflated ball in hands. The landlady might have some tools you can use.

“Hey, she’s not a mummy anymore!”

You trip, falling flat onto your face, ball hoisted into the air so it doesn’t get even more squashed.

Two identical snickers split the air. You wince, rubbing your bruising chin. _Ah, that didn’t hurt that bad though._ Your pain tolerance is now stupidly high these days. You look up to the two familiar faces standing a few feet from you as you settle onto your knees. 

Osamu and Atsumu.

(You still don’t know which one is which.)

“Now she’s just a klutz,” one says. The other snickers again and they both look at you.

They’re dressed in shorts and t-shirts too. Their hair is messy and it's clear they’ve been playing around in the front yard. 

“Ah,” you say, shuffling on your knees and bowing a bit to them. “Thanks for the gifts. My mom really liked the rice ball.”

The one on the left looks silently proud, perking up a bit at your words. The one on the right scowls instead though, shoving his hand deep into his pocket. “Wasn’t _us._ Our mom gave ‘em to ya.”

 _“Men and women alike,”_ Madame Fortuna always said. _“We’re all dishonest human beings!”_

You shrug, ignoring his words and standing up as you brush dirt off your knees. The two boys straighten, quickly assessing your height and seemingly pleased to know they might have an inch up on you. They stand shoulder to shoulder, looking nearly joined at the hip. They remind you of those projects you do in school, cutting one side of the paper to fold it so the other is exactly the same.

“I’m (Y/n),” you say, holding your deflated ball in one hand and reaching out with the other. “Hi.”

They both share a look with each other first before they scrutinize you. You keep your hand raised in the air, face calm until two hands come from either side, clapping roughly around yours.

You’ve never shaken two hands at once before. It’s a bit difficult.

“He’s Osamu,” the one on the right says.

“He’s Atsumu,” the one on the left says.

Ah. You realize. _This is going to be a bit hard._ You sniff the air. They both smell like sun and sweat. The only tell is apparently the way they flip the fringe of their hair, Osamu to the left and Atsumu to the right, but how the heck are you supposed to remember hair?

“Where’d ya come from?” Osamu asks.

“Chiba,” you say. “Then Shinjuku.”

“Oooh,” they both chorus. “How old are ya?”

“Seven.”

They both instantly looked irked by that, shooting each other looks. They both thrust fingers to their chests, puffing them out, “We’re both six, so we make twelve, yeah?”

You frown, “...yeah?”

“Ya finally comin’ out ta play?” Atsumu asks, shuffling on his feet. Osamu shoves his hands into his pockets now, the two of them picture perfect nonchalance. “We were bettin’ you were a wimp or somethin’.”

“Nah,” you say. “We were still unpacking. Mama needed me to help around the house. Now I’m gonna explore.”

They both perk up in interest. “Oh, yeah? Where to?”

“Wherever,” you say. “I saw a riverbank so I wanna see where it goes.”

“Oh, _that_ riverbank,” Atsumu says loudly, huffing as he rolls his eyes and rocks back on his heels. “I know that one. We’ve already been there. Explored _all_ of it.”

Osamu frowns, looking at his brother incredulously. Atsumu kicks his shin and Osamu pinches his elbow. The two twins quickly round on each other baring their teeth as they seem ready for a rumble. You watch the two of them, fairly amused until your eyes catch on the round object tucked under Atsumu’s arm.

A soccer ball.

Your eyes sparkle.

“Well,” Osamu says finally, still glaring at his brother while Atsumu sticks his tongue out at him. “We were playin’ earlier, but if ya need someone to help ya out, we can come explore with ya.”

“So ya don’t get lost,” Atsumu adds. “Cause we’re kinda the _experts_ around here.”

Osamu rolls his eyes.

“We know all the cool spots,” Atsumu continues, chest puffing up in pride. “The coolest, and _maaaaaybe_ we wouldn’t mind takin’ ya around too—”

“Hey,” you say, quickly holding your deflated ball with both hands. Osamu blinks at it while Atsumu looks wounded that he’s been cut off, like a chip in his nursing pride. “Do you guys have a ball pump?”

“A pump?” Osamu says. “For the ball?”

You nod vigorously, pointing to their soccer ball. Atsumu holds it up, looking at it and then back to his brother. They share a frown before looking at you, staring at your overly excited face and shining, hopeful eyes.

“Yeah,” Osamu says. “We do—”

“We _do_ !” Atsumu declares loudly. His brother looks at him like he’s about to shove Atsumu down a flight of stares. “We totally do. We’re _experts_ at pumpin’ balls. Right, Osamu?”

Osamu mulls it over before nodding, “Yup.”

“But it depends on what kinda ball ya got!” Atsumu says expertly. Your eyes widen in understanding, nodding quickly at their words. Atsumu practically eats up the attention, growing more excited as he continues, “Cause there’s different pumps, ya know? Lots and lots of ‘em.”

“I didn’t know,” you say. Atsumu sticks his nose into the air. You gingerly take the dirty ball in your hands, frowning at it. “It’s been awhile, so I’m not sure what ball it is too.”

“Huh?” Atsumu and Osamu chorus together, looking at you like you’re stupid. You shrug at them, holding the ball out. The two brothers frown, knocking their heads together as they squint at the ball. Osamu takes it into his hands, inspecting it.

“...I think it’s a soccer ball,” he says finally.

“No way!” Atsumu yanks the deflated ball out of his hands. “I bet it’s a basketball!”

“It’s too small to be a basketball, dummy.”

“It’s a baby basketball, idiot!”

“Stupid.”

“Ugly!”

“We have the same face, _stupid_.”

“...do you think we’ll be able to pump it?” you wonder, holding the deflated ball up too while Osamu and Atsumu each hold one side. They break their squabble and look quickly back at you. “Should we try one out?”

“Hah!” Atsumu says proudly. “Lucky for ya, we have all kinds of different pumps! Osamu and I play different stuff all the time because we’re friggin’ awesome!”

“Yeah,” Osamu agrees. “We can just bring them all out and see which one works.”

Your eyes brighten, shining like stars. You bow to them, “Please!”

Atsumu fluffs up like a peacock. Osamu’s chest swells a bit too at your words, the both of them looking utterly pleased with themselves. Atsumu breaks apart first, hurrying back into their house as he hollers for the two of you to wait there. The front door slams shut behind him and you can hear a dull _thump thump_ before Atsumu’s voice carries from somewhere inside.

“ _Ma!_ Mom! Where’s the ball pump?”

“Atsumu, stop runnin’ in the house! Which pump?”

“All of them! Hurry! Where are they?”

“All of—stop orderin’ me around! Hold on, you brat! Do ya even know how to work it yourself?”

“O-Of course I do! I watch all the time!”

“Uhuh. Call me if you need help.”

Before either you or Osamu can say anything, Atsumu comes racing back out of the house, rounding the corner entryway at rapid speed before skidding to a leisurely halt before you two. He holds out a hand and you dutifully hand him the deflated ball, the three of you squatting in the middle of the street as he hunkers down and drops a bunch of thin metal needles and small air pumps.

“Five hundred yen it’s a soccer ball,” Osamu says. 

“Yer on,” Atsumu says. “It’s a basketball. Hey, (Y/n), which pump you wanna try first?”

You blink in surprise, the two of them staring impatiently at you. Your eyes search the various little needles before pointing to one. Atsumu frowns, grabbing the needle and assessing your deflated ball. He spits onto it, wiping away a clod of dried dirt while Osamu makes a noise of disgust. 

A thin little hole appears and Atsumu quickly shoves the needle in, examining the screws and pumps now with creased brows. Osamu wordlessly picks one of the pumps up, working the screw to assemble them together as Atsumu grins, holding it out to him. “Alright! Now we just pump.”

“I can help,” you say, stretching your hands out. Osamu and Atsumu scrutinize your thinner arms but you stare back, determined. They share a look before handing you the pump and ball, waiting with hands on their knees as you quickly start to pump the lever.

“If ya get tired just say so,” Atsumu says.

“Might be faster if we do it,” Osamu adds.

You ignore them, pumping as quick and hard as you can. All three of your eyes start to light up as the ball slowly starts to take on a better shape. More hardened pieces of dirt start to fall off as it grows rounder, firmer. Atsumu and Osamu jostle each other, watching eagerly to see the outcome.

The ball takes proper shape. All three of you blink.

“...it’s a volleyball,” you say finally, blinking again. “Right?”

“A volleyball!” Atsumu says, scandalized. He observes it every which way before grunting. “Dang! It really is. And a cool one too! They use these in the Olympics! Man, a volleyball’s pretty cool too. Ugh, can’t complain.”

“Soccer Ball is closer than a basketball,” Osamu says. “You owe me.”

“No, I don’t, you goon! We both lost!”

“Nuh uh.”

You marvel at the newly shaped ball in your hands. It’s still dirty and in desperate need of a wipe down, but you can’t stop moving your hands over it. Can’t stop staring. You look at the alternating colors, drifting your fingers over the printed letters and realize it’s the first time you’ve ever seen this ball pumped up. Literally _the_ first time since your father brought it home, wrapped up saying it was some kind of consolation prize—all these years and it’d never been pumped up. You remember how much you wanted to play with it, but the chance never came.

_“I’ll look for the pump next time.”_

“You wanna play?”

You blink, looking up with wide eyes.

Atsumu and Osamu are staring back at you, waiting impatiently. You blink again, staring owlishly. “Me?”

“Uh, _duh_ ,” Atsumu says. “Who else are we talkin’ too?”

“She probably thinks you’re crazy, Atsumu.”“Shut up!”

“We’re pretty good,” Osamu says, pointing to himself and his brother. Atsumu nods vigorously. “We’re gonna join the club youth team when we turn ten, cause they don’t let smaller kids join yet. They only let us play around a lil’.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “It’s _easy_.”

“...is there a third one of you?”

Atsumu and Osamu blink. They look at each other, squinting for a second before they look back at you.

“Huh?” they chorus.

“A third one of you,” you repeat. “Like, a triplet or another sibling.” You’re a little wary about taking an offer in twos—the two of them is already great, but if there isn’t one more thing to balance it out, what if something bad happens? Or what if it makes a third bad cycle start instead?

“Playing with three people,” you say a bit shyly. “Just seems more fun.”

Atsumu looks at you like you’re stupid. Osamu pretty much looks at you the same way, the two of them eyeing you strangely before they cock their heads in the same direction, nearly knocking them together. 

“Aren’t _you_ the third?” they both say.

You stop.

Oh.

You’re… the third?

“Well, sure, we can’t play teams with three,” Atsumu says. “But whatever! We’ll just pass and rally—I bet you can’t even do that yet!”

“Yeah,” Osamu agrees. “Don’t get too cocky, new girl. Let’s go play by the park.”

They quickly stand, looking back at you and waiting impatiently. It takes you a few seconds before you hurriedly grab the ball, standing up. The two of them grin and then the three of you are hurrying off to a park you don’t even know the direction of, heart racing in your chest.

“We’re washin’ it first, I don’t wanna touch Atsumu’s nasty spit.”

“Aw, shut up!”

(You’d never thought about counting yourself before.)


	2. playing, dinner, school

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu and Osamu come to conclusions about you fairly quickly.
> 
> You're honestly just grateful they even want to spend time with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL? SO? MUCH? FOR THIS? AMAZING? RECEPTION?
> 
> I can't thank you all enough for your support, your interest, and the amazing feedback I've received for the story so far! I'm so excited you're all looking forward to where it goes too, and I'm definitely going to have fun writing it. Thank you so much for all your kind words, your ridiculously good theories, and for all the support!
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy this one as well!
> 
> debating whether or not to just give reader's mom a name so i don't have to say "your mother" each time lolol, if i do i hope you guys don't mind i'll just give her a first name HAHAHA

(Page 11)

It’s the middle of summer when the three of you become friends.

“Yeah! Yeah! Now you just gotta hit it like —”

The volleyball lands neatly over your ready arms, but the small turn of your wrist sends it flying smack beneath your chin, hitting your throat. You  _ ack,  _ tumbling backwards and onto the grass as the ball rolls to your feet.

Atsumu and Osamu stare at you for several seconds before snorting, breaking out into laughter as they point at you.

“Loser!” Atsumu crows, tears sprouting from the corner of his eyes. “I knew it was beginner’s luck! Ya can’t beat talent!” 

“You gotta stop turnin’ your wrist,” Osamu says, squatting down next to you. “Flat. Keep it flat.”

You obediently stick your arms out into the air while on your back, holding your arms in the proper receive form the twins taught you. Atsumu loudly complains you’re still doing it wrong and Osamu rolls his eyes.

“Well, yer not  _ too  _ bad,” Atsumu says, coming over and looking down at you with enough haughtiness to feed several dozen six-year olds. He sets his hands on his hips. “Better than most beginners. But you’re still a scrub.”

“Pretty scrubby,” Osamu agrees, crossing his arms over his knees as he watches you move your arm soundlessly through the air. “But not bad.”

“Volleyball’s pretty cool,” you say, still waving your arms around in mini-receives. “Lot’s to learn though.”

Osamu and Atsumu thoroughly perk up at your words. They grin, sharing looks with each other before they chorus, “Well,  _ duh _ .”

You’ve never really been partial to a specific sport before, so it’s a nice change of pace. You might even fall in love with it after some more time. Most sports you played were limited to grade school sports cycled through classes during gym time or out on the playground. You didn’t hate any of them, but you didn’t really love any of them either.

Since your treasured ball is a volleyball, Atsumu and Osamu had taken it upon themselves as the reigning volleyball mentors in the neighborhood (you think there might be other kids but they don’t tell so who knows) to show you the basic ropes of the game: 

“No one here’s as good as us, got it?” Osamu.

“Don’t listen to that one idiot by the konbini.” Atsumu.

“Yeah.” Osamu.

“Yeah, we’re the best.” Atsumu.

“The  _ best _ .” Osamu.

“ _ Real _ good.” Atsumu.

“So we can help ya out,  _ I guessssss _ .” Both of them.

They deemed you not hopeless when you could pass the ball back without much trouble and take falls or hits to the face like a champ—a high pain tolerance has its perks. You also started to realize  _ maybe  _ you could get the hang of telling them apart. Maybe. You might need some more time.

You make it a habit to mentally pick them out when they come to your door. You don’t think they’ve caught on to their own tell yet. If they do, you have a feeling they’re not above switching what side they part their hair. 

(Atsumu and Osamu, bit by bit though, really are two seperate people, you also notice. Still two halves of one whole, but different.)

Apparently the two of them could romp and wreck through just about any sport that struck their fancy, easily switching to soccer or basketball or even throwing a baseball just because they could (they claimed to be the best at any, but you politely decline to believe so until you see it), but they always found themselves back with a volleyball. 

For the past three weeks the two of them have been showing up at your apartment doorstep, waiting for you to come out and play. They alternate between knocking or ringing the door, usually appearing with a ball under their arm or some other item for the day: bug catching nets, spinning tops, or sometimes nothing at all which means it’s just a day of running around or exploring another riverbank. Some days you go, some days you don’t, still politely opening the door to their identical faces and explaining you’re busy or your mom said to relax with her that day.

“Lame,” they’d both chorus on days you refuse, sticking their tongues out at you before they run off snickering.

Play. Refuse. Repeat.

Sometimes when you’re free, you show up by the front of their house, waiting by the gates instead of venturing close to their front door until one of them spots you waving from a window and you wait, listening to thundering footsteps and boyish shouts and their yelling mother before the two fly out the door and meet you.

Some days it’s only for a few hours, even less, and others it’s the entire length of the day. For as long as either of you three can toe the line before returning home. Usually you always make sure to be back by sunset, per your mother’s unspoken preference, but some days you come a little later than others and she just ruffles your hair.

That’s the nice thing about kids. They don’t really need a reason to be “friends” or otherwise, you just have to be in the same vicinity and be interesting enough. It’s really that easy.

(There’s a lot about being a kid that ought to be easy.)

Osamu and Atsumu at the end of the day are your neighbors, and you know to be civil to your neighbors unless they’re “Assholes, just beat them up then” as your mother would say. They’re ruder than most kids you’ve met, more blunt too, but they’re kind of funny, so you’re not particularly bothered. And they pumped your ball, no strings attached.

(That’s essentially kid-code for: they’re great people.)

You’re rather grateful for Atsumu and Osamu, strange as they are, so you usually do your best to treat them very well. They don’t really seem like they hate you or anything, so that’s a plus. The twins do tend to be bullies, but it’s not particularly anything you can’t handle—Madame Fortuna’s callers have had it worse.

_ “Always be kind to those that are kind to you,”  _ Madame Fortuna wisely advises.  _ “Or else!” _

Madame Fortuna and your mama always say to mess up anyone that messes with you too, so it really does balance itself out. The world’s kind of amazing.

“Hurry up, slowpoke,” Atsumu complains, nudging your side with his foot. “Or are ya gonna give up for today?”

His grin turns haughtier and he sticks his nose up into the air, “Maaaaaybe Osamu and I might give ya a few more tips if yer nice—”

“...I think I’ll get it next time,” you say, sitting up like a robot and looking specifically resolute. Osamu and Atsumu both arch brows at the same time and you wiggle three fingers. “Third time’s the charm.”

Atsumu snorts while Osamu picks up the ball, willing to test your challenge. You get back up onto your feet while they ready the ball, eager grins on their faces as Atsumu launches it into the air.

You decide volleyball will have a special place in your heart from now on.

(Page 12)

“Hey, you’ve still got one left, ya mummy.”

You pause, looking up from the mound of mud you and Osamu were carefully crafting into a massive structure. You weren’t really sure what it was supposed to be yet, but Osamu seemed to have some kind of thorough game plan, so you silently followed along to where his fingers directed you. Atsumu smirks from where he hauls a bucket of water, splashing it obscenely into the sand pit to get the mud going again. Osamu scowls at his tactlessness.

Atsumu’s wet, cold fingers probe the back of your neck, shoving aside your hair and touching the bandage still plastered over your upper back, hidden underneath your shirt. You jump at the cold touch, turning your head.

“Well, yeah,” you say, reaching to push his fingers aside but Osamu reaches over and swats your hand, turning to peek at it with his brother. “It didn’t scab yet.”

“Gross,” Osamu says, touching the plaster. “Gonna scar?”

Their prodding fingers are a little uncomfortable but not terribly so. You quietly let them look a bit longer, staring at the mud over your fingers, “Maybe.”  _ Mama might get mad if it does though. _

“How’d ya get it?” Atsumu asks. “Somethin’ dumb?”

“Um, glass,” you say. “Got cut.”

“Dumb,” they both decide. You frown, flicking mud over your shoulders and they snicker, wiping it off their cheeks. “Maybe it’ll scar into somethin’ cool.”

“Like a cross or somethin’,” Osamu adds. “You’ll look like a main character.”

“Naw,” Atsumu says. “It’d be way cooler to look like claw marks or—or a star or somethin’.”

Osamu looks at his brother like he’s stupid. Atsumu shoves his shoulder with his. Osamu’s eyes narrow dangerously, scooping up a mound of mud.

“...do you guys have any scars?”

Osamu and Atsumu blink, looking over to you. You watch them back just as curiously, waiting to hear their reply. It takes them a moment before Atsumu laughs, quickly standing to his full height and raising his muddy hands up. “‘Course we do! Whaddya take us for? We’re tough as nails!”

Osamu tugs down his sock to show a mottled scar that curves up his ankle, short and pale. “Got this one climbin’ over a fence.”

“Got this one from tryin’ to ride dad’s bike!” Atsumu says proudly, lifting up the hem of his shirt. You stare at his blank stomach until you spot the small scar up his hip. “We didn’t even cry when we got these—bet  _ you  _ did.”

“I did,” you say, leaning back in slight respect. “That’s pretty cool.” You definitely don’t know how to ride a bike.

“Right?” Atsumu says loudly, chest puffing with pride. He drops his shirt back down and tugs at the back of Osamu’s. “We even got matchin’ ones on our back when we both fell off a tree! Biggest one in the park and we climbed all the way to the top! Bet ya never did that!”

You frown, tipping your head to the side in deep contemplation. “...huh, yeah, I haven’t.”

Atsumu's ego swells visibly bigger by the second. Osamu warily eyes his brother from the side, finishing up his mudball. 

“Mom says they’ll probably heal though,” Osamu mutters, touching his scar. “Sucks.”

“Yeah, scars are cool,” Atsumu sighs, looking annoyed. You touch the bandage peeking out over your neck. “Mom says kids heal fast though—we’re like, super heroes or somethin’.”

“Naw, yer the villain,” Osamu says.

“I’m ‘boutta shove this mud fist into yer mouth—”

“Mine will be the biggest.”

Osamu and Atsumu stop, quickly swinging their heads back to you. You play with the collar of your shirt, considering the size of your bandage and then grinning impishly at them, toes wiggling in the mud. “So I win.”

“That’s dirty!” Atsumu shouts and Osamu shoves his face to the side with muddy fingers.

“That’s cheatin’!”

“We’ll get  _ way  _ better scars.”

“For a cooler reason then  _ glass  _ too—”

You continue to grin, cheeky. Atsumu and Osamu let out war cries, tackling you back into the mud. A mother walks by outside the park with her stroller, gaping at the three pigs moving about in the mud.

(You’ve never had this much fun before.)

Eventually after a truce made between the three of you, sick of getting mud in your mouths, you all stand crowded by the park spout as you take turns pushing the lever, ducking under to rinse the mud and grime off your clothes before either of your parents unleash hell.

Osamu pushes the spout for his brother and Atsumu pushes it for you. Atsumu sneezes, tugging off his sopping shirt and wringing it out as he shakes his fluffy locks like a dog, still grinning. You stand, dripping wet and wringing your clothes and hair out as you grab the lever for Osamu as he ducks under the spout. “Lemme know when you’re ready—”

Osamu’s nose twitches. He pauses, sniffing the air again. His brows crease for a second before he promptly turns around and faces you, leaning around the spout. You blink back at him curiously, water curling down your chin and dropping onto the ground. Osamu stares right back at you, the dark color of his eyes and that kinda sleepy look he wears make it hard to figure out what the boy’s thinking.

Osamu leans forward, entering your personal bubble. You tense slightly and then still, blinking curiously back at him as he loudly sniffs the air and looks at you, quizzical.

“Ya smell good,” he says simply. “Like rice.”

You’re not sure how he can sniff anything out over the smell of park water and mud that stills clings to you, but you give your wrists and shoulder an experimental sniff anyway. Regular smells you can still catch fine, but the finer scents your mother tries to explain and point out to you are harder with your dulled senses.

(You wish your nose had been this bad when your dad was still around.)

“Uh,” you say, looking back at Osamu. “Thanks?”

_ I mean… rice isn’t a bad smell, right?  _ Osamu looks satisfied, leaning back. He shouts when Atsumu promptly pushes the lever, dousing him in cold water with a loud guffaw. “Loser!”

Osamu tackles him back into the ground. The two of them wrestle, kicking up clods of dirt and dust and getting messy all over again. You happily watch, wringing out your shirt with a content smile.

(Yeah, lots of fun.)

(Page 13)

“Oh! If it isn’t the Miya boys!”

Atsumu and Osamu look up over the top of your head, expressions vaguely bored. You pause in the middle of grabbing a handful of marbles to rearrange the next game around, looking up as well.

An older woman waves the twins down, walking across the park. A grocery bag hangs from her wrist as she smiles, coming to stop a few feet from them. “Look at you two out and about. Not giving your mother too much trouble are ya?”

“Nope,” they chorus. Both twins bow their heads slightly in a rather half-hearted gesture. “Good evenin’, ma’am.”

“My, such good boys!” the woman praises. Her eyes flicker over to you and you politely bow your head, deep. Her smile is light as she examines you, “Oh, my, you must be one of the new neighbors to the complex by the bathhouse. I live in the house right beside it.”

“Ah, hello,” you say politely, lowering your head still. Atsumu and Osamu watch you, light catching off the marbles gathered along the ground. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The woman smiles, considering you for a moment before she adjusts her bag. “It’s just you and your mother, isn’t it? I saw the two of you headin’ out the other day—what a mature young girl you are.”

“Yes, it is,” you say. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Is your father away?” she asks nicely. You stare at the marbles.

“They’re divorced,” you say, the same way your mother has always told you to, because there’s nothing to hide. It’s the truth. “We don’t really see him.”

_ We never want to either. _

The woman makes a noise of understanding, looking curious as she stares at you. “Goodness. It’s plenty hard raising a child all on her own, but your mother must be terribly worried since she’s an omega to boot, right? I thought there should at least be a man in the picture…”

You still briefly at the word, staring harder at the ground.

She mostly seems to be rambling to herself, knowing fully well you shouldn’t really be too bothered by this kind of talk. You’re a kid after all. Kids don’t really worry about these things. They don’t think about the words of adults.

(You do. You do. You  _ do _ .)

Atsumu and Osamu watch you with those sleepy looking eyes, following the way your fingers touch the back of your neck, rubbing it out of what’s beginning to be a habit. “Well, I hope you and your mother get along just fine here. Does she work nearby—”

“Ma’am yer askin’ lots of questions today,” Osamu says. You pause. The twins are grinning. “We feel left out.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Don’t mind me, you two,” she laughs, waving her hand at them. Atsumu and Osamu continue to flash her those boyish grins and she smiles, pointing a finger. “Humor this old lady, she’s just looking for a good chat. Let’s see now… which is which…”

She points to Atsumu, “Osamu-kun.” She points to Osamu. “Atsumu-kun, right?”

The brothers grin in-sync with each other. Their eyes twinkle and their smiles show baby canines peeking out. You blink at them, curious.

“That’s right~” they cheer. She beams, flushing with pride as they praise her. “You always get it right, ma’am. Ya know yer stuff.”

“I can do that much at least!” she says, looking satisfied. She waves to them and nods to you, gathering her bags and sweeping out of the park. “Don't stay out too late and be home by dinner! I’ll drop some peaches off for your family soon!”

“Thanks!” Atsumu and Osamu call, watching until her back disappears around the corner bend of the park, vanishing. You can’t help but continue to watch the twins, confused as they wait a few seconds before turning to each other and sticking out their tongues with a  _ bleh. _

“What a hag,” Atsumu says without mercy. Your eyes go round.

“She only wants to gossip,” Osamu says. “Shouldn’t adults have more important things to do?”

“Ugly hag.”

“Nosy lady.”

They stick their tongues out and then snicker at each other, quickly turning back to the marbles scattered along the ground. Osamu stops when he notices you haven’t moved, staring at them with a dumbfounded expression. Atsumu frowns, raising a brow. “What?”

“I just…” you start, not really sure how to continue. “I dunno. Wow. Wasn’t that kinda mean?”

“Mean?” Atsumu snorts, scrutinizing you in disbelief. “‘s the truth!”

“Yeah,” Osamu echoes. “She always says nasty stuff anyway. Doesn’t matter.”

Sure, you didn’t really like where the conversation was going either. Sure, she didn’t seem like the kind of lady your mother might get along with—but, well, your mother told you never to back down from a fight when people messed with you… but this seemed a bit different from something physical. And… well… what she said was just…

_ Just didn’t rub me the right way. _

“(Y/n),” Atsumu says, wagging his finger in front of your face. You blink owlishly at him. “Yer the  _ real  _ monster if ya don’t act honest ‘bout how ya feel.”

“Don’t be a phony,” Osamu says.  _ Weren’t they just being fake to her now?  _ “We hate phonies.”

“How come you guys didn’t correct her?” you ask, genuinely curious. Atsumu and Osamu blink right back at you. “‘Cause she got it wrong…”

“...we don’t really care when it’s people like that,” Atsumu says flatly, looking bored by the whole ordeal. “People mix us up all the time. They think Osamu and I are the same—scrubs.”

“Big scrubs,” Osamu says. “They think just one of us is fine. Who cares? That just means they’re not important anyway if they can’t tell us apart.”

“Right?” Atsumu grins, nudging his brother who grins back. “Real stupid.”

“...oh,” you mutter, touching your bottom lip.  _ I guess I should take telling them apart a lot more seriously. It seems like they don’t really like it.  _ Atsumu and Osamu’s eyes swing back to you, watching you for several heartbeats before they share a look and then leer closer toward you, squinting a bit.

“Yer not too bad at it,” Osamu says. “How do  _ you  _ usually tell us apart?”

You blink, looking up at them. Osamu and Atsumu watch you like hawks, openly curious but the sleepy, half-lidded look to their eyes makes them look a lot more alert than you realize.

“To be honest,” you start sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. Atsumu and Osamu both arch a brow and you gesture to your bangs. “‘s cause of your hair.”

Both of them blink again. They turn, looking at each other. Atsumu and Osamu both reach out, touching the opposing fringes and then looking back to you, as though for confirmation. You nod, sweeping your hair to one side. “Osamu-san goes left. Atsumu-san goes right.”

“What the heck,” Atsumu snorts, “that’s such a dumb reason.”

Neither of them seems particularly bothered by your method though—they seem amused, if anything. You watch them quizzically as they both turn to each other, grinning mischievously before they turn back to you. “Alright, close yer eyes then.”

You hesitate for a second before obediently covering your eyes, lowering your head. You hear the two of them snicker, shifting around a bit and stomping loudly just for show. You wait patiently until they both chorus loudly—“Open.”

You curiously peek over the top of your hands.

Both twins stand now, shoulder to shoulder. They’ve mussed up their hair, flattening out their fringes across their foreheads. They both school their expressions into ones of lazy, vague interest, mimicking each other in their entirety. They’d even been wearing the same outfit today, you completely forgot.

Like this, standing side by side and without the parts—you think they look even  _ more  _ alike. Truly two halves to some kind of whole. From the dark color of their hair, the smooth round of their cheeks and the stature of their heights—everything about them seems completely and utterly identical.

They grin in unison. “Can ya tell who’s who?”

_ But _ , you think curiously, staring at both of them for a heartbeat longer.  _ Maybe they are kinda different after all. _

Atsumu and Osamu really are like those projects you make in school—but you fix it a bit. Their paper matches, the same sheet, same color, but it’s unfolding the middle that the two shapes they make are what’s different. Same color, same paper—different shape.

You open your mouth, tasting the air.

“...Osamu-san,” you say, pointing to the brother on the left. You point to the one on the right, “Atsumu-san… right?”

They both look at each other in silence. The emptiness of the quiet suddenly weighs heavily on your gut, making you worry you might’ve done something to upset them. They narrow their eyes at each other before they abruptly drop down into a crouch in front of you, leaning forward with their hands on their knees. You blink, leaning back a bit.

“Alright,” Atsumu says from the right. “How’d ya know?”

“Did ya peek?” Osamu asks, not sounding like he means the question at all. His eyes glitter, lips twitching. Their smells curl in the air, mingling together the way they always do until it seems like their smell is just one and it hits your dulled nose like a faint breeze.

“Well, you’re basically clones,” you say honestly, folding your legs and setting your hands down in your lap. You frown in thought, “But you’re kinda different too… maybe the smell? Like, just a bit different somehow… uh…”

Atsumu and Osamu both look to each other from the side. Their gazes eventually swing back to you, taking in your troubled, sweaty expression as you seriously try to consider why you went with the guess you did. Did you guess it wrong two times before in your head, so you got it this time?

Wide grins curl up over the corners of their lips. 

(You can hardly smell it, and even when you do, you don’t really know what it means.)

You settle for the fact that there’s just a lot left to learn about the Miya twins.

(They reek of satisfaction.)

(Page 14)

“What kinda friends did ya have before?”

You consider Atsumu’s question, racking through your limited memory while Osamu moves your hands, showing you how to fold the paper frog with his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth in concentration.

The three of you are crouched in their front yard. Different stacks of colored paper are scattered around you, weighed down by comic books and shoes. You’d mentioned to the two of them not knowing how to do origami and they laughed at you for a fair amount of time before declaring themselves experts and that they  _ might  _ be willing to teach you.  _ Might _ .

Osamu has a brand new origami book sitting in his lap, carefully following the instructions as he moves your hands too. You decide to tack down that the twins aren’t very honest all the time either, and Madame Fortuna always says to look out for liars, but she also says a little lie from time to time ain’t too bad.

Atsumu’s become bored of the whole thing fairly quickly—only getting into it for the satisfaction of making sure his brother didn’t outdo him in anything. (Osamu’s definitely better but you keep your mouth shut. Somehow, strangely, you have a feeling Osamu still knows you think it though, if his smug looking brows say anything about it.) From time to time Atsumu asks these kinds of questions—things about your past, about you and what you’ve done before meeting them.

He always looks bored when he asks, but he never seems to forget your answers.  _ Guess they’ve got a good memory. _

“...pretty normal ones, I guess?” you say. Osamu huffs in satisfaction when the frog shape appears. You let out a soft  _ oooh _ . “They were all pretty nice.”

Atsumu sniffs, rubbing his nose, “Yeah? Sounds borin’.”

“No, it was alright,” you say. “We got along fine and everyone was nice.”

“Borin’,” Atsumu says loudly. “What’s the coolest thing ya’ve done with ‘em?”

Osamu looks up at your face from the side, his completed frog sitting in the grass. You work at getting the next flap for the legs and think, counting in your head.

“...the arcade,” you say. Atsumu looks vaguely irked by that. “The pool and… a class trip.”

“Oh, yeah?” Atsumu asks airily. He kicks out his legs. “Bet they were all pretty lame.”

“No, they were fun,” you say, finally finishing the frog. Osamu pats your leg in praise and you set it down beside his—it’s a little funny looking, but not a bad first try. Osamu gets to work on another one and you watch his surprisingly nimble fingers move.

“We’ll do tons of cooler stuff,” Osamu says offhandedly. Atsumu perks up at that, nodding. You blink curiously at him.

“ _ Way  _ cooler,” Atsumu says. “‘Cause you’re pretty lame, (Y/n), so we gotta do more cool stuff.”

You frown at Atsumu, mildly offended. “I’m not  _ that  _ lame.”

“Nah, yer  _ super  _ lame. But your old friends were even lamer.”

You toss a crumpled paper ball at Atsumu. “Don’t be mean.”

Atsumu looks offended, grabbing the ball and tossing it back at you. You toss it back at him and he scowls, tossing it again. The two of you start a mini-paper war, tossing the ball back and forth and dodging attacks. Atsumu lunges and you slap a paper into his face, knocking him sideways.

“‘s not like yer gonna see ‘em again!” Atsumu says, grumpy as he shoves the paper off and you frown at him. “Who cares!”

“Doesn’t mean you can say mean things about them—”

“Done.”

You look over to Osamu while Atsumu huffs angrily behind you, rubbing his cheek. Osamu quietly opens up his palms, showing off the neat, nicely folded origami rice ball. Your eyes go round in surprise, leaning closer. “Wow, Osamu-san, that’s neat!”

“Sounds lame when ya say  _ san _ ,” Osamu says, but he grins, clearly proud as he hands you the rice ball. “Here.”

You stare at Osamu in surprise and then grin, gingerly taking the offering. You marvel at it every which way, eyes sparkling at the resemblance and Osamu’s grin turns into a snicker, “Don’t eat it on accident.”

“I-I won’t!”

Atsumu gapes at his brother, looking completely and utterly betrayed. Osamu just sticks his tongue out at him and proceeds to make something else. Atsumu jerks, face flushing red in anger and he hurriedly scrambles for the book, aggressively flipping through the pages for the coolest, hardest looking one. “I-I’m gonna make this one! Way cooler than yer stupid rice ball!”

“Then I’ll make this one,” you say, pointing to an even more ridiculous looking one.

“Hah? Ya can’t make that, yer just a scrub!”

“But Osamu-san’s been teaching me.”

“Yeah, Atsumu, yer so dumb. And stop saying  _ san _ .”

“Osamu, ya dirty traitor!”

(Page 15)

“ _ Often we come face with decisions on whether or not to remain in the past or consider the future more, _ ” Madame Fortuna starts during her nightly broadcast, coat shimmering through the screen. You quietly drink your milk, wondering. Osamu’s rice ball and Atsumu’s weirdly bent fox sit on your little table in your room. “ _ What is better? The memories? The present? The ambitions of the future?” _

You shrug at her through the screen, not sure of the answer.

Madame Fortuna extravagantly extends her hands, waving her bangles. “ _ As a fortune teller, I will always advocate for the future! _ ” You’re not sure what advocate means but it sounds like she likes the future. “ _ Being caught up in the past, stuck in what cannot be changed… those are trivial things. Always look toward what can be changed! The future is where the rest of your life awaits you! Literally! _ ”

_ Past, present, future.  _ You like that there’s only three, thinking over each of them. You’re not really fond of the old stuff, since there isn’t much good, but you like the way things are now. So you guess you hope they’ll be the same in the future? But it seems a bit unfair to leave the past behind just like that. 

Atsumu definitely seems like the kind of kid who’s always thinking about  _ next, next, next.  _ Osamu doesn’t seem like he minds either way. You… 

“ _ We don’t need the memories! _ ” Madame Fortuna says grandly.

You pause, blinking at the screen.

_ “Don’t ever forget what happens in the past,”  _ your mother says, staring you in the eyes as the sirens wail.  _ “You make sure it never happens to you again.” _

“ _ Now, scorpios, your time is right and _ —”

Maybe, for once, you think you might disagree with Madame Fortuna.

(Page 16)

“(Y/n)-chan! Why don’t you stay for dinner tonight?”

You pause by the front wall of the Miya household, standing beside Atsumu and Osamu, the three of you on the cusp of parting ways. Mina waves eagerly from the front door of their home, wiping her hands on her apron. “You always run off before we can even offer ya a bite! You must’ve worked up an appetite with those brats, right?”

You consider her words. You’re definitely hungry. Your eyes go up to the sky and note the darkening color of orange burning through.

“ _ Moooom _ ,” Atsumu and Osamu chorus, but she shushes them, beaming at you. 

“We’ll even have ice cream for dessert,” she adds, opening up the front door more. Atsumu and Osamu look wordlessly to each other and then back at you. “We can tell yer mama and hop on in!”

“If you come we can show ya our new game,” Osamu says. Atsumu lets out a low  _ oh yeaaaah  _ at his brother’s words, nodding eagerly. “Ya never come in anyway.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “We’re having  _ omurice.  _ Osamu goes nuts for it.”

“You say that about everythin’ I eat,” Osamu says.

Both twins turn and face you expectantly, looking almost impatient by your lack of answer. Mina’s still beaming from their doorway.

“Thank you,” you say to them and then say it louder to their mother. Osamu and Atsumu frown in unison. “But I’m alright. Mama’s making curry tonight, so I don’t want to miss it.”

“Oh, alright,” Mina says cheerfully. “Next time! How about I make curry and you come over?”

You bow politely in her direction, smiling. Atsumu and Osamu share another look before they shrug, shoving at your shoulders (one shoulder for each of them, this is their strange farewell, boys) as they both bark out goodbyes and quickly race to their front door, elbowing each other until their mother shouts at them to stop. You wait until they're at the doorstep before grabbing your ball and turning to walk the short way to your own apartment front door.

Out of curiosity you turn over your shoulder and blink. Atsumu and Osamu are waiting at their doorstep, staring right back at you. You wave one more time and then quietly slip back into your home.

The moment the door closes behind you, a soft sort of hush falls over the entryway. You shrug off your shoes, turning them neatly beside your mothers and leave the ball by the small basket your mother’s left there for your other outdoor things. Sure enough, the faint smell of curry wafts from the kitchen and you peek your head around to find your mother just finishing up packing away the excess into future containers.

“Enough to last us the next three days!” she says proudly, turning to you with a grin. “Always cheaper to make it like this. Wash up and get ready to eat, hun.”

You bob your head, doing as your mother says. In a blur of several hours, you and your mother are sitting on the cushions of the kotatsu in your living room—it works as a couch and coffee table—curry dishes washed, stomachs full, changed into pajamas for the evening and watching mindless television roll through while your mother peels tangerines you’d both picked off someone’s tree.

“How’d the interview go?” you mumble, cheek pressed into the smooth wood of the kotatsu top, watching the television screen flicker. Madame Fortuna would be on earlier tonight and  _ usually  _ your mother didn’t mind you continuing to watch a bit past your bedtime since it was still summer.

“No go,” your mother says. “I’ll try a few more shops then go the next train stop over.”

You rack your brain—this is the third no go for your mother, which makes three bads. She might have two more strikes before getting the next one. “Good luck, mama.”

“I’ll head to the office next month to get you enrolled into the local school,” she says. “The one we saw on our way here. Think you’ll be fine when they get back into it?”

You nod. “Gonna study hard.”

She smiles, looking proud, “And friends?”

“If I make some, I make some,” you say amiably. You never had the chance to get particularly close to most of your classmates—enough to go to a few houses, enough to have places to sit during lunch, to weave in and out of groups—but never long enough for  _ more.  _ You idly think about Atsumu and Osamu. “I’ll ask Osamu and Atsumu if they go there too.”

(You originally called both of them Miya, but they loudly complained and then complained more and told you to just call them by their names. It was annoying, they said. Dumb.  _ Yer not dumb, right? _ )

“You’ve been playing with those boys a lot, huh?” your mother sets down a tangerine slice by your lips and you lazily move to eat it. “The twins? I’ve only talked to Miya-san a few times and they seem pretty rowdy.”

Your mother says the word  _ rowdy  _ with a lack of tone to it—the kind you’ve learned shows her attempt at indifference. It’s not very fond, but it’s not entirely filled with dislike either. You’ve heard plenty adults use it on calls with Madame Fortuna.

She hasn’t really met Atsumu and Osamu, you think, so odds are she’s just looking out for you, same as always.

_ “How does everyone treat you at school?” _

_ “No funny business?” _

_ “Heard you got into a squabble with one boy… oh, I see. That’s good.” _

_ “Don’t ever let anyone push you around, (Y/n). Ever.” _

“Yeah,” you agree. “Pretty rowdy. But they’re kinda fun, so it’s okay.”

“They don’t bully you or anything, right?” your mother watches you curiously and you bob your head, munching on another slice.

Her fingers dig harder into the tangerine she was peeling, juice dribbling down her wrist, “And they don’t… say anything funny to you? About smells or second genders or anything like that?”

You blink in idle surprise at your mother, opening your mouth as she places another slice on your tongue. You shake your head, “Nope. We don’t really talk about that stuff.”

Your mother looks significantly more relieved. You’d already gathered from Madame Fortuna’s episodes that second genders seem to be a bigger focus the older you get, much older, and you figure you don’t really need to think about it too much.  _ Two of them mean being a loser anyway. _

Osamu and Atsumu only ever complain about each other’s smells or make fun of you for how badly your nose works. They’re more focused on one-upping each other. “That’s good. Miya-san seems like she can give them a good knuckle down otherwise.”

“Mhm,” you figure the only reason why the Miya household isn’t a seven-year old kingdom run by twin kings is because of the mighty matriarch of the Miya house. “We play lots, and I normally just shove back when they get rough. It’s fun.”

Your mother laughs, “Don’t bother them too much, alright? Boys are dunces and non-stop machines sometimes. Can’t imagine how they wear their own mom out. You don’t have to spend all their time just cause they say they can.”

Madame Fortuna says similar things.  _ “Men! Now, men! Men are always boys, and boys are always little men and they think _ — _ ” _

“I won’t,” you say, taking a tangerine and peeling it for your mother instead.

She smiles, carding her fingers through your hair. She tucks it back and sweeps it over your shoulder, leaning over to rub her cheek against yours in a rare spot of affection. You listen to the happy rumble that whispers past her lips before your mother cuts it off herself and goes back to running her fingers through your hair. Her scent is thick with that light, airy scent of sweetness.

(When she's really happy it’s light, and you like it the best. Not flowery, not thick, the way she is with others sometimes.)

“Glad I have a daughter,” your mother says. “Glad I have  _ you _ .”

You split the tangerine in half with her and grin, ear to ear.

(Page 17)

“Yako? Yeah, we go there too.”

Crystal clear water rushes past your legs. It’s cold, but not as bad with the sweltering sun beating down on your backs. It’s clear enough to see your toes wiggling back at you. 

“...great,” you say amiably. You truly mean it. It’ll be nice to walk into the new school and recognize a few faces. This lucky group of three was really working out for you. “I’m kinda excited now.”

You picked out your sturdy black pair of shorts for today’s event, making sure to change after your mother left for another job hunt because she said you shouldn’t wear the shorts till your legs heal up more. They go to your tiny upper thighs, showing off the big, (slightly) angry red scars on the back of your thighs—two random gashes. But the cold water feels great on them since they’re normally itchy. 

Two round watermelons bob in the riverbank between the three of you. Atsumu and Osamu hold the ropes of the net for the bigger one while you hold onto the net of the smaller one, letting the water chill the melons.  _ It’s my first time chilling melons like this.  _ You let out a satisfied sound. 

The twins automatically look stupidly pleased with themselves, even though the three of you going to the same primary school are entirely out of any of your hands—they still seem to feel they’re the ones who’ve done something right. Atsumu and Osamu grin, perching their one free hand on opposite hips.

“Yer sure lucky you got to be  _ our  _ neighbor,” Atsumu says loudly. “We can even show ya around the school ‘cause a scrub like you would probably get lost.”

“You sure are,” Osamu agrees. “Teachin’ ya volleyball  _ and  _ helpin’ ya at school. Better thank us.”

You nod in agreement, “Mhm. I’m real glad I got to meet you guys.”

“Right?” Atsumu says quickly. Osamu nods eagerly right beside him and the two of them are bursting with pride, shoving into each other and knocking shoulders. The watermelon bobs between them. “ _ Right _ ? It’s stupid lucky you got to meet  _ us _ .”

“Yup,” you say, more interested in watching the watermelon bob in front of you.  _ I bet it’ll taste real good.  _ “‘Cause you guys probably have lots of friends, so thanks for spending time with me.”

“Heh, we definitely do,” Atsumu boasts, nose high in the air. Osamu looks just as smug beside his brother, though a bit quieter about it. “We know tons of people in class. People always wanna hang out with us.”

“It even gets annoyin’,” Osamu says.

“ _ Real  _ annoyin’,” Atsumu mutters. The two share a brief look before it disperses and Osamu grins cheekily, hand cocked haughtily on his hip as they watch you.

“We’re probably the coolest friends you’ve ever had,” Osamu says. “Nah, we’re probably the  _ only  _ cool friends you’ve got.”

You sniff the air—their scents always intermingle, so it was pretty hard for you to pick out at first. When they’re happy like this it gets strong enough even for  _ you  _ to smell, with your fairly under average smelling skills. A bit overpowering, actually. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” you say honestly. You grin at them, showing off your teeth, “Thanks a bunch.”

It’s true after all. And since your mother said the goal was to stay much, much longer than just three years this time—why not try for it?

_ Having some friends. Close ones. _

Atsumu and Osamu’s shoulders raise—bristling with exaggerated pride. Atsumu’s eyes suddenly narrow and he turns sharply to his brother, wrinkling his nose.

“‘Ey, Osamu! Quit it, ya stink!”

“Can it, Atsumu, you stink  _ way  _ worse,” Osamu barks. “I’ve just been patient and haven’t said a thing—ya reek!”

“Dirty liar! You’re way worse!”

Osamu kicks up his foot, splashing his brother. Atsumu lets out a war howl, tackling his brother into the water as the two start shouting and hitting each other, rolling and splashing like a pair of fish. Water splashes all over you as you watch Osamu dunk Atsumu’s head under and then his brother grabs Osamu’s collar, bringing him down with him. You reach out and grab the bigger watermelon from floating away, happy it isn’t too heavy after all.

_ This is great. _

You watch the watermelons bob in the water behind you, utterly content as Atsumu and Osamu gargle under the water.

* * *

“You know, when the doctor handed the two of ya to me, I could’ve  _ sworn  _ I made sure not to get a couple of bumblin’ idiots.”

Atsumu and Osamu scowl in unison, dripping water from their plastered black hair and clothes. A singular puddle forms beneath both of them and more droplets rain down when their mother smacks them on the head, turning their scowls into pouts.

“He started it,” Osamu says.

“Wouldn’t have if ya didn’t stink—”

Mina raises a threatening fist and the two twins purse their lips, huffing through their noses. You stand on Osamu’s left, holding onto the nets for the watermelons so they sway in the air.

“Soakin’, both of ya!” Mina says in disbelief. “You even got poor (Y/n)-chan all wet!”

Atsumu reaches around his brother and roughly tugs at the clearly dry patches of your shirt. “What are ya talkin’ about? Barely a drop—ow!”

“I’m fine,” you say amiably. Osamu pinches the wet corner of your shirt, wringing it between his fingers. “I had lots of fun.”

“Aren’t you a blessin’ on this earth,” Mina says, pulling harshly on Atsumu’s ear. “You two brats go inside and change and dry off! If ya get sick, I’m not lifting a finger, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah—”

Mina’s eyes narrow and Osamu and Atsumu straighten, loudly dragging out a  _ “Yes, ma’am.”  _ You grin, handing Mina the watermelons when she reaches to take them from you. “Summer colds are no joke!”

“They really aren’t,” you agree. Mina nods until you add, “Summer fevers are no good for men.”

Mina stops, blinking. She looks at you with comically round eyes while you focus on wringing out the damp parts of your shorts. Atsumu and Osamu jostle you. “Hey! You tryna say you’re stronger or somethin’?”

“We don’t let fevers beat  _ us _ ,” Osamu says.

“Yeah! Don’t get cocky, scrub!”

“I’m not,” you say simply. “‘s just what the television says sometimes.”

“Stupid television,” Atsumu mutters. “Spoutin’ nonsense.”

Osamu nods in disgust.

“A-Anyway,” Mina says with an embarrassed laugh, “(Y/n)-chan, come on in! I’ll get ya a towel and you can take a seat while I get these cut!”

“I want the bigger piece,” Osamu says quickly. Atsumu gawks in outrage.

“Nuh uh! I always get the bigger piece!”

“Atsumu, you’re such a stinkin’ liar.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” you say politely. Mina and her sons blink, turning to you with blank expressions. “I really appreciate it though.”

“Y-You don’t want to stay?” Mina repeats, looking bewildered. “I mean—oh, are ya busy, honey?”

“No, not really,” you say. “But I better get home. Thanks again.”

Atsumu and Osamu gawk at you, jaws going slack. Mina looks helplessly at the watermelons in her hands and back at you.

“Have a great rest of the evening,” you say cheerfully. “Bye guys. See ya tomorrow.”

Osamu and Atsumu continue to gawk at you, blinking rapidly while water drips from their clothes. Mina looks scandalized right behind them, staring at you in disbelief.

The twins’ expressions morph, the surprise wearing off and turning into something indignant. They quickly fall upon you, “What the heck are ya talkin’ about? We chilled the watermelon together! Whaddya mean you’re not eating?”

“Are ya not hungry?” Osamu says, looking horrified by the very thought.

“You  _ dumb  _ or somethin’?” Atsumu says, outraged.

“We did,” you say happily. “I had lots of fun. Thanks. I’ll pass on eating it though, I appreciate it.”

Atsumu throws his hands in the air and Osamu grabs his own hair, pulling at the fluffy black ends in indignant disbelief.

“Why  _ wouldn’t  _ ya eat it—”

“Makes no sense—”

“Ya sure you’re right in the head—”

“Just come in and—”

“I’m okay, thank you though,” you say again. You remember your manners and bow politely to Mina before waving at the boys and quickly making your way across the street back to your apartment doorstep.

Before the three Miyas can gather their wits or say anything else, you give them a final eager wave and promptly close the door shut behind you with a soft  _ click _ .

“Back already?” your mom peeks out from the small kitchen and you nod, smiling as you toe off your shoes. “Have fun?”

“Lots,” you say, fixing your shoes beside your mothers. Her shoes are just as worn as yours, if not more, but you like this pair a lot better than the pretty set of heels she keeps in the shoe closet. Those always look amazing on her, but they make you a bit intimidated. She hasn’t had to wear them for awhile.

“Take a shower, dinner’s almost ready,” your mom calls and you nod.

The sound of muffled shouts come spilling into your entryway and you half turn to the door, your mother raising a brow at the loud cries from your neighbors right outside.

“M-Ma! What the heck was that?”

“Me? What are ya doin’ yelling at me?”

“You’re the adult!”

“Yeah, mom.”

“Y-You brats! Go inside and get changed before I make ya strip in the street!”

“ _ Mooooom! _ ”

“Huh,” your mother says. “Lively, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” you agree, grinning despite yourself. “They’re pretty funny.”

(Page 18)

“Hey, (Y/n)!”

You blink at the identical fingers pointing right at your face. Atsumu and Osamu look determined, eyes narrowed as they face you, side by side. You’re crouched on the ground, hands hovering over your laces as you look curiously back up at them.

They’re a little sweatier than normal—well, maybe you guys did play more than usual today. You’re pretty hungry now too.

You calmly continue to lace up your shoes in front of their house. “Yeah?”

Atsumu smirks like he’s already won something. Osamu looks similarly smug, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why don’t ya come over for dinner tonight?”

“Oh,” you say pleasantly, still tying your shoes. “It’s okay, you guys don’t have to—”

“Friends always eat dinner at each other’s houses,” Osamu says matter-of-factly. “Sleepovers and trips and all that stuff. And you’ve never seen our house, bet yer curious, right?”

You are, to be honest. Maybe just a bit. There isn’t much to your room aside from your futon and your desk that works as your dresser with the lower drawers and a small closet where you keep your things. Would their room be split right in half, one for each of them? Or did they have two seperate rooms? How’d they decorate it? What did the inside of their house look like? Full?

You’ve never been to anyone’s house before. 

“Our mom’s makin’ curry tonight!” Atsumu declares, setting his hands on his hips. “Ya like curry, right? Well, our curry’s  _ way  _ better than your mom’s, so come over and—”

“No, thanks,” you say kindly. “I’ve had curry for three days now. I think I’ll explode.”

Osamu and Atsumu look as though they’ve been carved right out of stone. Both their faces are frozen in their haughty stances, no longer able to change as they process your words and you stand, brushing your hands on your pants.

“Mama’s making soup,” you say. “So we’re gonna eat that. Thanks though.”

The twins grab their stomachs as though you’d just delivered the final blow. Osamu mutters a quiet  _ “S-Soup? Soup over curry?”  _ in disbelief while Atsumu’s wounded ego takes an invisible stab.  _ They’re funny.  _ You smile, patting both their shoulders and turning on your heel. 

“Bye, see ya tomorrow!”

* * *

You start to learn something new about Atsumu and Osamu over the course of the next few weeks.

They’re pretty persistent when they want to be.

The two of them are especially competitive when it comes to each other—neither Atsumu or Osamu willing to let the other twin get a leg up, but when it comes to problems or hurdles or challenges they both decide to tackle, they’re rather ferocious in their attempts.  _ Real rowdy _ , you think, borrowing your mother’s words.  _ It’s just dinner. They’re weird. _

Some days when the three of you are rough-housing—usually a result of Atsumu or Osamu fighting each other first and then you getting dragged to the ground in a tangle of limbs—they quickly strive to pull out on top over the other. The two twins are frighteningly in-tune, but they seem to always be dragging the other right after the other one. 

The days still continue like usual—pounding on your door or insistent ringing of your door bell as they wait impatiently for you and the three of you set off for whatever fun for the day. You’ve asked them if you’re taking up too much of their time and they always loudly complain you  _ are _ , but they  _ guesssss  _ they don’t mind. ‘Cause apparently you’re pretty funny yourself.

(It makes you feel pretty nice. You’re grateful.)

The evenings however, seem to have broken out into some kind of brawl you’re not sure really exists.

Atsumu and Osamu stand before you, arms barred across in a grand show of protest. Their eyes narrow into slits at you, lips pulled back into fierce snarls. Their scents are still pleasant though, if you sniff really hard, you can almost get a whiff of the exasperation coming off one of them and the indignance off the other.

Again, the three of you stand outside their house. You carry a nice bag of apples, about to give it to them.

“Dinner tonight,” Atsumu says darkly.

“It’s  _ real  _ good,” Osamu says, just as threatening.

You wait patiently for them to finish.

“HAMBURGER STEAK!” they both shout at you, quickly holding their breaths as they watch you with wide, fierce eyes, preparing for your imminent downfall.

“With,” Osamu quickly adds, just to top it all off, “ _ pudding  _ for dessert.”

“The real good single servin’ ones, not the cheap three packs!” Atsumu snaps.

They huff through their noses like bulls, staring you down.

“Wow, sounds really good,” you say amiably. “We’re going out tonight to meet with mama’s cousin. I think we’re getting ramen.”

Atsumu and Osamu’s heads  _ clack  _ against each other as they slump, barely holding each other up. Atsumu grabs at his invisible pride, clutching it tightly while Osamu puts a hand to his face, looking grave.

“Have a great dinner though,” you say, leaving the apples at their feet. “Bye!”

* * *

“Tonight we’re having yakitori! With pickles! And salmon!”

“You can even make your own!” Osamu rants, looking a bit crazy. “Grill whatever ya want!”

“Oh, have fun! Mama’s making omelettes tonight. Bye, guys!”

* * *

“Grilled mackerel!” Atsumu shouts.

“With rice!” Osamu adds.

“I love that stuff. Mama said we’re doing Chinese take-out, bye!”

* * *

“Katsudon with extra katsu!”

“Tell me how it tastes. We’re doing porridge tonight.”

“P- _ Porridge _ ?”

* * *

“We’re havin’ yakiniku! With extra meat! Lots of meat! So much meat you could explode!” they both howl.

Your mouth waters at the thought. Atsumu and Osamu jostle their shoulders together, thinking they’ve just about got you on the ropes.

“That sounds  _ super  _ good, eat lots then! I’m helping mama make tempura tonight. I’m really good at fryin’. Have fun!”

“What the hell!” Atsumu tosses his soccer ball onto the ground as you run off back to your apartment. Osamu mutters about his language. “I don’t get it! Why’s it so hard to have her come over for dinner? What the heck’s her problem?”

“Maybe it’s cause she’s weird,” Osamu says, crouching with his hands on his knees. “I don’t know anyone who says no to yakiniku. ‘s a crime.”

“What, does she think we’re not good enough?” Atsumu huffs, balling his hands into fists. “Fine! We don’t want her to come over for dinner anyway!”

“Still sucks though,” Osamu mutters. “Makes me feel like we lost or somethin’.”

“She’s so stubborn!” Atsumu complains. “What’s up with stubborn people?”

Osamu rolls his eyes but agrees nonetheless, “Maybe it’s her mom? She does seem kinda strict.”

“What?” Atsumu says loudly. “That’s so lame! Who cares about what their ma says?”

“ _ We _ do,” Osamu rests his cheek on his hand, grumbling. “Plus, talkin’ like that makes granny sad.”

Atsumu grumbles a series of incoherent words under his breath—Osamu’s the only one who understands them—and the two twins crouch down on the ground, frowning at the floor.

“...ya think we should try curry again?”

“Dunno, depends on mom.”

The two twins sigh in unison, flopping down onto their backs.

(Page 19)

“(L/n)-san, (Y/n)-chan!”

You sniff the air as hard as you can, barely able to pick out the slightly familiar scent. Your mother stiffens briefly, nose twitching before her shoulders calm. You look up to her, blinking as you hold your bucket of soaps and clothes all bundled up in a towel before looking over your shoulder.

Mina Miya smiles, waving to the two of you as you stand at the entrance of the neighborhood bathhouse. She has her own things tucked under her arm in a nice bath bag, hurrying over to the two of you.

A few people trickle in and out of the common area lobby, already dressed to return home. You like the bathhouse a lot; it’s an old looking thing with nice wooden floors and lots of machines that hand out milk. The lights are always warm in here and the atmosphere is never too bright or rowdy—there’s even a second floor you haven’t explored yet. Your mother prefers these late hours or the early morning ones when there’s less customers so you two have the whole baths to yourselves. She doesn’t always take the two of you here since you have a working bath as well, but you like the bathhouse so she relents.  _ “Cheaper on water I guess.” _

Just for the heck of it she lets you go three days in a row and then three days at home. Repeat.

“Hello, Miya-san,” your mother greets. Mina smiles, waving at you and you wave back, shuffling your things into an arm. “Is the rest of your family coming?”

You perk up curiously, expecting to see identical faces peeking out from around Mina’s legs. Mina sighs in relief, waving a hand. “Not at all. My husband’s got those two busy since he promised a boy’s night out into town. They’re eating ramen together so I have a night to relax.”

She beams, “Mind if I join you two?”

Your mother smiles, opening the entrance for you. You bounce inside happily, Mina following right after as the three of you make your way to the counter. Mina quickly fishes for her wallet while your mother watches you tug out your own, dutifully counting the money she gave you for the two of you and smiles when you hand it to the man. He smiles back, handing you two tickets. She ruffles your hair— _ good job. _

Mina lets out an envious sigh, taking her ticket from the man. “See? This is why I think about trying for a girl—(Y/n)-chan is too good for this world, (L/n)-san. My brats only have good sense when they put their brains together or want somethin’ bad enough. She’s such a good kid, you did amazing.”

You idly think about Atsumu and Osamu squabbling in front of a vending machine as they argue which drink is better or barking at each other as they fight for which comic issue to purchase.

“She deserves all the credit,” your mother says, watching Mina show the man at the counter her driver’s license. The man smiles, politely handing her a water-proof band. Your mother doesn’t take her eyes off it as Mina slips it on over her wrist as easy as breathing, an emblazoned  **α** clear and notable for anyone to see.

“I don’t know if I tell you enough how cute your daughter is. An absolute angel for puttin’ up with those idiots. (Y/n)-chan ya don’t have to spend a lick of time with ‘em if you ever get sick of those dummies,” Mina continues to gush. Your mother looks away from the band and the three of you make your way to the women’s changing rooms. “You’re probably sick of hearin’ it, I’m sorry.”

“Not at all,” your mother waits until you’ve pulled off your clothes and she does the same. “I don’t think you realize how great it is to hear all this praise for her—thank you for treating my daughter so kindly, and me as well.”

“Oh, shucks, it’s nothin’,” Mina says, looking utterly happy. You wonder if that’s where Atsumu and Osamu get their dopey looks from.

_ “Boys who take more after their mothers will be bigger handfuls than those who take after their fathers,”  _ Madame Fortuna says.  _ “Beware! Geminis, your Thursday morning is looking gloomy, bring these lucky items with you _ ... _ ” _

Your mother’s shoulders relax a bit. Her smell eases up—that’s one of the only smells you’re good at reading, your mother’s—it lightens into something pleasant and you feel yourself smile too.

A few women are still in the changing room as the three of you make your way to the showers. Three massive baths ripple with steam, advertising herbal essences and different health properties—one for basic skin care and healthy insides, one for regulating pheromones with natural herbal remedies, and one to cure aches and sores. Mina chatters on beside the three of you, waving her hands animatedly—she’s very energetic for an adult, you haven’t met anyone like her.

A few women walking past you, out of the baths and to the common area, glance to your back and behind your thighs, brows furrowing and lips pursing in worry. Your mother’s scent comes back like a whip, crackling. She quickly pushes you ahead of her and you scurry to a stool, pulling it out and organizing your three bottles—shampoo, conditioner and body soap. Mina takes a stool on your other side while your mother sits down.

You dive right in, eager to hit the bath. Mina snorts, laughing as you blast yourself with water and then fill a bucket up as you rush to soap up your hair. Your mother begins to wash herself as well, taking her time and scrubbing meticulously at her wrists and around her neck until the skin is raw and red.

“(Y/n)-chan, I heard you’re goin’ to Yako Primary!” Mina says, building bubbles up into her hair. You nod, suds flying with your eyes closed as you fish for your bucket. Mina hands it to you. “Are ya excited? The school’s pretty great and they have all kinds of field trips and stuff—a huge field!”

“That sounds nice,” your mother says conversationally. Mina perks up and you nod furiously, still scrubbing soap. “I’m enrolling her next week so they can get her into the system before summer break ends.”

“Let me know if ya need any help with anythin’,” Mina says. “I help around sometimes—lots of the moms and dads volunteer for this and that so we know a few of the basics.”

“That’s helpful,” your mother says, grateful. “I actually do have a few questions—what’s the staff like?”

Mina blinks, looking confused for only a second before her expression clears and she smiles well-naturedly, “Most of the faculty are betas, there’s three omega teachers and two alphas too though, one of ‘em teaches history, believe it or not!”

“Alphas as teachers, huh?” your mother muses. Mina nods, smiling.

“Hear lots of places consider it now,” Mina says. “Better for the kids and for anyone that wants to pursue that kinda field, right?”

You dump the bucket Mina handed to you over your head, shaking your hair. Your mother frowns and Mina laughs, watching as you kiss your mother’s wet cheek and then hurry off to the baths, slipping right into the herbal one for good skin.

“...you two settlin’ alright?” Mina asks politely. Your mother smiles absently, nodding. “I’m glad! Shinto and I have been meanin’ to invite you two over for dinner or a drink—ah, only if ya want though! Seems like our brats have been tryin’ to beat us to it.”

“I’m sure we wouldn’t mind,” your mother says. She glances over to your head bobbing over the top of the water and back to Mina. “(Y/n) has a lot of fun playing with your boys, thank you for looking after her.”

“Oh, of course!” Mina gushes. “I told ya, it’s  _ your  _ sweetie I ought to be thankin’. Atsumu and Osamu are devils, the two of ‘em—one minute they can be the best, brightest kids ya ever seen and if it suddenly fits their fancy they can turn the whole thing upside down.”

Mina lets out an aggravated sigh, rubbing her wet cheeks with soap, “Sometimes  _ I  _ don’t even know what to do with ‘em. I feel like they really did get the best  _ and  _ worst from my husband and I. If I don’t rule with an iron fist, they’re going to throw a coup.”

“...kids are just like that,” your mother says. Mina looks over curiously. “Blink and you miss the moment they’ve figured out some part of the world for themselves.”

(Good, bad, or somewhere in between.)

Mina idly scrubs at her skin while your mother drags her fingernails down her wrists, making her scent glands swell. She dumps another pump of soap all over. Mina looks over her shoulder to where you’re bobbing in and out of the water, sitting patiently in the corner by yourself, eyes closed in bliss.

“...to be honest with ya,” Mina starts, leaning over the empty stool, telling a secret. “Don’t let the brats catch wind of this—but I’m  _ real  _ glad someone like (Y/n)-chan popped up.”

Your mother grows stiff. Her hands clench tight, digging into the soap bar, breaking pieces apart. Her eyes land on Mina’s wristband. She does not forget how painfully easy it was to tell Mina’s husband was also an alpha. How badly she wished she checked a bit more thoroughly in her desperate haste to find somewhere and completely missed a house of not one or two, but possibly  _ four  _ of them—

_ “...mama, I’ll do my best not to be a loser.” _

“Atsumu and Osamu don’t make friends real well,” Mina says, looking sheepish. “They  _ do _ in a pretty shallow sense. Get along  _ real  _ well with kids in the neighborhood, but only if  _ they  _ want to and even then, sometimes they turn around and just say somethin’ nasty. They’ve always had each other, so they’ve become a bit isolated and Shinto and I were worried it’d become a nasty habit for ‘em.”

Your mother pauses. The soap stops breaking beneath her fingers.

“Those two brats might act like angels at school when they  _ feel  _ like it,” Mina huffs. “But they can be real nasty too—I know, I’m their darn mama. Kids come over all the time or they go romp off with someone else, but they always come back to each other in the end. Never seem to take to anyone else.”

“...you think they’re being fake?” your mother asks curiously.

“I don’t know to be honest!” Mina shakes her fists in frustration. “Sometimes? They’re brats for cryin’ out loud, I don’t want to think they’ve developed somethin’ nasty like that! Or sometimes I worry they’re just not meetin’ the right kind of kids… Maybe it’s a dumb thing to think when they’re still just little beans but… guess as much as I hate to think so, in a world like ours, you’ve got to pay attention to yer kids young to make sure they don’t pick up something nasty just ‘cause it might be what’s  _ instinct. _ ”

Mina slumps onto the stool, letting the hot water pelt her. Your mother is silent, staring at the water swirling along the tiled drain below her feet.

“‘s why I was so worried when they started pokin’ their noses round your place,” Mina says glumly. “Saw your sweetie pie and thought— _ hell if I’m gonna let these brats bully our damn new neighbor.  _ Atsumu and Osamu are relentless when they’re curious ‘bout somethin’ and sometimes it comes at the expense of others—but when (Y/n)-chan came round a few times, I wondered if maybe it’d be alright. She’s a funny cookie.”

Your mother looks at Mina, watching the other mother smile, wide and bright, fangs shining cheekily. “They’re brats but they’re such cute brats sometimes—runnin’ around, debating what might be good—apparently (Y/n)-chan’s too tough for ‘em and it’s drivin’ them mad!”

Mina laughs, “I feel like  _ we’re  _ the ones who really got lucky with the two of you movin’ in. (Y/n)-chan’s a blessin’ for curbing those two.”

“...they’re that excited?” your mother murmurs warily.

Mina grins mischievously, “They keep sayin’ she’s their pal, buddy, friend—but they get all huffy when (Y/n)-chan doesn’t say it back. Finally have to work for somethin’ other than their sports. I plan on makin’ sure those idiots don’t ever make her cry or they’ll have hell to pay from me.”

“...I don’t know if (Y/n)’s said anything, but we’ve moved around a bit,” your mother says. She doesn’t quite know why she speaks, a sense of ease forced out because of your relationship to this woman and her family. As a mother, she feels she needs to do this much at least. “She doesn’t get the chance to make very permanent friends. I know she might say things a bit beyond her years too."

Your mother rubs the back of her neck where her fingernails scratch the old scar of a bite mark, permanent. “I’m very thankful the three of them seem to be getting along so well then.”

Mina looks so happy she could burst. Your mother puts all the bath items together and stands when Mina does, the two women making their way to the baths where you’re still happily bobbing in the first one. 

“They kept huffin’ and puffin’ and talkin’ up a storm about this and that—do ya know how satisfying it was to see them pulling their hair out like old men in the living room yesterday? I’ve been slavin’ in that kitchen and forcing those two to pull their weight, and the past few weeks we’ve been eating like kings!”

Your mother raises a brow in confusion and Mina laughs, “They keep askin’ (Y/n)-chan to come over for dinner but she keeps turnin’ them down. They’re on their last legs.”

Your mother considers Mina’s words, watching you perk up at the other end of the bath and start to rise out of the water. She stands between the three baths, pretending to consider them while Mina slides into the first one with you.

“Have to say I’m jealous,” Mina sighs, relaxing into the water. “You’re one amazin’ cook. (Y/n)-chan refuses to miss any of your meals.”

Mina looks up curiously, smiling when you step out of t e bath. You bow politely to her and she breaks out into a laugh, holding her stomach. Your mother waits in silence as you grin at her and then slip into the other bath, wading in and waiting.

Without a word, your mother sinks into the natural pheromone regulating bath right beside you.

(Page 20)

“You can go over to their house for dinner if you want.”

You blink, cupping your precious jar of milk. You quickly look up to your mother in surprise, but she doesn’t look at you, staring straight ahead. “Miya-san told me those boys are sulking about it. You can go over, only if you want.”

You can barely smell your mother’s usual scent, dulled underneath the soaps and herbal tangs that cling to both of you. Your mother ruffles your hair.

“Not too much though,” she says. “Don’t impose, but if you reject them too much without a reason, they might get the wrong idea, you know?”

Your eyes widen in quick understanding. Madame Fortuna constantly stresses the importance of communication in relationships. Were you slacking in that department?

“Okay,” you say happily. Your mother smiles, taking her hand off your head. “Thanks, mama.”

“Are you going to stay up for that show again?”

“Mhm!”

“Maybe I’ll give it a whirl.”

(Page 21)

“When school starts we’ll walk with ya, cause you’re dumb and you’ll  _ definitely  _ get lost,” Atsumu says loudly, kicking a pebble in front of him that Osamu kicks as well. The two alternate turns kicking the pebble ahead of the three of you.

“School isn’t that big so we’ll probably be in the same class,” Osamu says matter-of-factly. “There’s only three classes for each grade.”

“If ya get put in a different one, it’s cause your dumb,” Atsumu says firmly, side-eyeing you with a look that says he’ll blame you even though it’s entirely out of your hands. 

“...thanks,” you say amiably. You don’t think you’re dumb at all, especially because you’ve been studying really hard to make sure you’re caught up. But the twins have a backwards way of talking sometimes, so you figure they don’t mean it the way they say it. Probably. “I’ll be careful!”

Osamu and Atsumu look satisfied enough by your words. You walk on Atsumu’s left this time—you alternate since the two of them always walk beside each other—the three of you just rounding the corner that leads to both your apartment and their house. 

“...what are you guys having for dinner today?” you ask. Atsumu and Osamu quickly look bitter, kicking their pebble with more force.

“...grilled rice balls,” Osamu finally mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Atsumu scowls beside him, sticking his chin out.

“That sounds good,” you say.

The two twins grumble something incoherent but nod regardless, finally coming to a stop right in front of their home. They both frown, looking in opposite directions. The air is faintly bitter, barely reaching your dulled senses. You shift on your feet, glancing to your hands, to your house, and then quietly back to them. 

“Can I join?”

Atsumu blows an aggravated sigh through his lips. Osamu stares darkly at the top of his shoes. The two brothers share a bitter, glum look, brows creased as you wait patiently, idly tugging at the hem of your shirt.

“Yeah, sure,” Atsumu grumbles. Osamu suddenly pauses, looking confused. He blinks repeatedly, looking dumbfoundedly at you as you grin and Atsumu still continues, “Doesn’t matter anyway, we’ll tell mom—”

Atsumu cuts himself off. He blinks, turning to his brother. Osamu stares right back at him. The two continue to stare for several more seconds before they turn to you, brows creased in confusion.

“Wait, what did ya say?” Osamu asks.

“Can I join you guys for dinner?” you repeat. “Only if it’s okay though. I don’t wanna impose.”

The twins look at each other in disbelief and then back at you. It takes what you’d like to think feels like another three minutes before both their brains click together in unison. Atsumu and Osamu’s faces clear instantaneously and in-sync, eyes growing round before they flatten out, rising to their full swagger.

“H-Hah! You wanna come over to  _ our  _ house for dinner?” Atsumu says loudly, eyes gleaming brightly. Osamu shoves his shoulder right into his, the two of them jostling each other in their excitement. “Yer askin’  _ us _ ?”

“Yeah,” you say. “It’s your house.”

You refrain from rubbing your nose at their overwhelming smell. You wonder if they know how strong it is considering if someone with messed up senses can even smell it.

(Well, it’s not a terrible smell. Just strong.)

“I mean,” Osamu says airly, shrugging his shoulders in unison with his brother. “Sure, you can come if ya want.”

“Great!” you say with a grin. “I’d like to come. I’m starving.”

Osamu roughly pinches his brother’s arm. Atsumu does the same right back at him and the two quickly swat each other’s hands away, glaring briefly before they look right back at you.

You grin.

“...no take backs!” Atsumu suddenly shouts. Osamu’s hand snatches your wrist and you jump in surprise, eyes dropping down to where his rough fingers curl neatly over your skin. He gives your arm a tug and starts hurrying to their front door, shooting furtive glances over his shoulder back at you to make sure you follow as Atsumu herded you forward between them, pushing your shoulders. “Ya can’t go back on your word, got it?”

“Oh, I mean, I don’t really plan to. I’d really like to eat dinner here if that’s fine—”

“And ya have to stay for dessert,” Osamu says. “That’s part of it too.”

“Mama said not to impose—”

“You’re not,” they chorus quickly.

Osamu kicks off his shoes, tugging the front door open. You bend down to take off yours, but jolt in surprise when Atsumu quickly shoves you into their genkan first, closing the front door behind the three of you and turning around, hands splayed as though he were about to be caught in some kind of crime.

His brother plops down onto the genkan ledge, sneaking both hands forward and yanking your laces free. You turn to Osamu, blinking curiously as he stares right back, eyes a lighter shade than his hair.

The twins stare at you for a moment before looking at each other and then back to you. A bit of sweat dribbles down the side of their brow and they watch you with a bit of wariness, as though they expected you to walk out the door any second.

There’s a warm light spilling into their entryway. You haven’t even seen the full house but you know it’s big. The hallway is spacious and lined with nice tables that show off what look to be photos and a potted plant. You can already smell a hint of something delicious from deeper into their home.

(A part of you thinks,  _ oh,  _ maybe this should be what a house looks like—but the traitorous thought leaves the moment in comes.)

You smile a bit awkwardly, bending down and slipping your shoes off. Atsumu toes his off and kicks them into the corner. You quietly notice the shoes lined up messily and neatly in their genkan, staring at the mud on Atsumu and Osamu’s several pairs of sneakers and the nice shine to what’s probably their father’s shoes and the nice curve of their mother’s flats.

You gently place your shoe in the empty corner away from theirs. You look back up to them with a cheesy grin, “Um, pardon the intrusion.”

Osamu quickly grabs your hand again, tugging you quickly into the house. Atsumu pushes at you from behind as words start spilling out from both of their mouths at the same time, hurriedly and animatedly explaining to you the mini-fast paced tour of their house. You see a spacious living room, a dining table, a set of stairs, even the nice restroom on the first floor and their father’s office and— _ ah, their house smells like them. _

Your socks practically slide against the sleek wood as they steer you around, pointing and yapping before they herd you into the kitchen.

Mina pauses by the stove, sniffing the air curiously. She frowns, turning around with her hands wrapped around a rice ball. Her eyes land on you.

“Mom!” Atsumu and Osamu chorus. “(Y/n)’s stayin’ over for dinner!”

“If that’s fine,” you add. 

Mina’s eyes bulge in surprise. It takes her a moment to realize you’re standing in her kitchen before she quickly brightens, eyes shining as she turns to you. “(Y/n)-chan! We’d be happy to have you!”

She looks over in disbelief at her sons, smirking at them, “Did you two brats finally come up with somethin’ decent?”

“She wanted to come over herself—we didn’t even need to ask!”

Atsumu and Osamu smugly cross their arms over their chests. Mina rolls her eyes, unable to stop her grin. You quietly lace your fingers together, a little amazed at witnessing their interactions on such a personal level. It  _ was  _ different inside someone else’s house.

Mina and her sons quickly turn, as though sensing something and you follow, blinking when a man in business attire appears at the other end of the kitchen, a small smile on his face. “Oh! We’ve got a visitor. Is this the cute neighbor I’ve been hearin’ so much about?”

“That’s right!” Mina says excitedly. Atsumu and Osamu groan in unison, tugging at your shirt and muttering about leaving for the living room so they could show you more of their cool things. Mina quickly turns you around to face their father. “(Y/n)-chan, this is Atsumu and Osamu’s papa, he won’t bite!”

Their father grins, stooping down and offering a hand to you. “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/n)-chan. I’m Miya Shinto. I’ve heard lots of great things about ya!”

He’s a tall man. Well-built and sturdy. He has dark colored hair slicked nicely over his head in a way that doesn’t seem unlike something Atsumu and Osamu could pull off. The twins seem to have inherited their father’s build and looks, but they’ve got their mother’s mischievous, lively eyes and her grin. Shinto Miya seems a bit more soft-spoken as well, which is your first time meeting a man who smells the way he does and acts like this.  _ Guess they take after their mama. _

He smells a bit like the way your father does. Different, but still a bit similar. It barely catches on your nose, subtle and calm compared to how your father would propel his across the entire house, flooding every inch and corner.

(But he still smells like all those other men too.)

You stare at the nice curve of his canines that peek out a bit. You realize all these things mean this man is an “alpha.” Mina is one too.

(It doesn’t… feel right to think these people are “losers.”)

Your hand hesitates at your side before you politely bring it up and shake hands with him. Shinto smiles, warm and welcoming and you think after another two times you should be able to feel alright too. “It’s nice to meet you, Miya-san.”

“We’re all Miya,” Osamu says. “Just call him old man.”

“Hey!” Shinto protests. “(Y/n)-chan, thanks for puttin’ up with these little troublemakers—”

“We’re not!”

“Oh, no,” you say. “Thank you for having me over for dinner. Times are tough. It’s not easy to feed the child of another woman.”

Shinto’s eyes bulge out of his head. Mina squashes the rice ball in her hands, gaping at you. 

You think about the upset caller Madame Fortuna had dealt with the night before, inwardly shaking your head. You could understand the sentiment—times were tough indeed. Feeding another kid that wasn’t even yours? Pure kindness.

Atsumu and Osamu look at you like you’re crazy, whispering behind your back about what the heck that’s supposed to mean. 

Shinto laughs, rubbing the back of his neck while shooting his wife wide, confused looks. Mina ushers at him with her rice covered hands and Osamu tells his mom not to waste food while Atsumu grabs your shirt and starts pulling again, rambling on about how he’ll show you all their cool stuff and you can see their movie collection and their comics and—

You’ve never been to anyone’s house before.

But here, standing in the Miya’s kitchen, letting their warmth surround you as the loud chatter you only hear outside your door floods the room—you can’t help but hope you’ll get to do this more.

(Page 22)

You go over to the Miya household several more times after that evening

You try not to go too often, even though the twins ask often enough. You like to alternate between refusing three times before you go three times. 

Your mother asks about the visits sometimes but usually she just ruffles your hair and tells you to take a shower after. You talk endlessly about the visits at first, but after a few times you scale it back, only telling your mother what you had and anything notable.

Atsumu and Osamu never stop asking, sometimes complaining when you say  _ no  _ and arguing with you about how you never come even though you’d come just the other night. You stand firm in your habits though, making sure you scale back to accepting your row of threes with sometimes a week in-between.

You have a feeling your mother likes it better this way and you’re fine with that, to be honest. Maybe you’ll try inviting the twins over instead soon.

The thought makes you smile, eager for the chance to come.

(Page 23)

Summer break ends with a final hurrah in the riverbanks, tromping through the water and splashing and laughing as Atsumu and Osamu tackle each other and push you into the water. It breaks out in wide peals of laughter and hands and movement and in a flash of sizzling firework butts, it ends.

You hope for another two more great summer breaks later on too.

(Page 24)

Your mother turns sharply, staring hard at the front door when a series of rapid, quick knocks hammer from the other side.

Her hand roughly digs into your shoulder, holding it for a moment as she stares. Her scent floods your weak nose, becoming a bit overwhelming. You look up at her in surprise, holding your backpack and stopping in the middle of tying your shoes. You’re dressed in a nice pair of leggings, a big, fuzzy sweater hanging over you.

Today was the first day of school after summer break.

All the other students would be returning normally like Atsumu and Osamu, but for you, this was your first day back to school in a good while. It’s a blessing all over again that at least there’ll be someone you know. Some _ two _ .

“(Y/n)!” the dragged out call of your name spills past the heavy door. Two different knocks hit the door, one from Atsumu and Osamu each. “Come on! Hurry uppppp! We’re gonna leave ya behind!”

“That’s the weirdos,” you say diligently to your mother. Her lips purse into a bit of a forced smile, standing up and adjusting your backpack as you quickly lace your shoes and stand. “Ready mama?”

She stares at the door, rubbing her nose. Your mother looks back at your patient, smiling face and she finally tugs the door open, sliding the lock and twisting the knob.

Atsumu and Osamu look a touch too stylish for a couple of brats—matching black track jackets that hang over different colored shirts (Atsumu’s red and Osamu’s black) and a pair of gray shorts. They have backpacks slung over opposite shoulders, grinning widely until they bring their eyes up and spot your mom, halting.

Their noses twitch on instinct. They take in your mother from head to toe, blinking with wide, round eyes. The twins quickly straighten, pulling their hands out of their pockets and flattening them at their sides as they quickly bow to your mother. “Good mornin’, (L/n)-san!”

“...morning,” your mother says quietly. She sweeps the both of them up and down before she absently rubs her wrist. Atsumu and Osamu peek at each other from beneath the flop of their fringes before they sneak a glance back up at your mother, still bowing.

They blink again when you peek around your mother’s legs, waving to them.

“...you’re going to be fine walking by yourself?” your mother asks, looking down at you. You bob your head up and down. Atsumu and O amu slowly straighten out again, keeping their hands at their sides and remaining uncharacteristically quiet in the face of your mother. “Okay. I’ll head to the station then. You have your key?”

“Yup,” you say, beaming. “Good luck today, mama.” It’s the third, third, third time, so she has to strike it lucky now.

“She can come over to our house if yer busy ‘cause of work!” Atsumu blurts. Osamu elbows him in the ribs and your mother sweeps her eyes briefly over to them.

“If that’s fine,” Osamu says, watching your mother from beneath his bangs.

“That’s very nice of you two,” your mother says. You beam proudly beside her. “I wouldn’t want to impose on Miya-san.” Atsumu’s lips move but Osamu roughly twists his brother’s side, pinching it. Atsumu _ urks _ , glaring at his brother and rubbing his sore side before pouting.

“I’ll come home straight after,” you say to your mother. She nods, stepping out the door with you in tow. Atsumu and Osamu quickly back up from the entrance, waiting as you come to stand with them.

Your mother ruffles the top of your head and sweeps off, skirt shifting tightly over her legs. You glance down to her shiny, pretty heels, staring at them for a long moment before you quickly look back to Atsumu and Osamu, grinning until you notice their eyes still on your mother.

“She’s pretty, right?” you grin, proud. The two of them swing their eyes right back to you. “Mama’s the prettiest.”

“...I dunno about  _ pretty _ ,” Atsumu says, folding his arms behind his head. “ _ Scar _ —”

“She’s pretty,” Osamu interrupts his twin, turning to you. “Real pretty, (Y/n).”

Your smile widens, making you look dumb. Atsumu huffs, rolling his eyes before he turns them right back to you and sneers. “Ya look dumb in that sweater, who the heck picked it for you?”

“I did,” you say, pulling the hem. “I like it.”

“Dumb,” Atsumu says. You kick his shin and he hisses in pain, grabbing for you but you dart behind Osamu. “No fair, Osamu, hold her!”

“Naw,” Osamu says, starting to walk with you in tow behind him, sticking your tongue out at Atsumu. “We’re gonna be late. Let’s go so we can pick good seats.”

“Ya scrub! It’s alphabetical!”

“Yeah, I wanna pick the better one ‘tween the two of us.”

“Atsumu comes  _ first _ , stupid!”

“They can never tell us apart anyway.”

You walk a few paces behind the brothers, holding up your fingers. The sun is high in the sky and the air is still warm, so a nice breeze flutters between the three of you. Your backpack is light against your back.

Atsumu and Osamu continue to shoot insults back at each other, filling the silence with a chatter you’re not used to but think you definitely could grow to like. You flex your fingers, curling each one.

_ New friends and dinner…  _ you curl each finger.  _ And a new school too. _

You look down at your hand, smiling.

(Maybe things would turn out alright after all.)

“(Y/n) whatcha grinnin’ for? Ya look  _ dumb. _ ”

“Nothin’.”

“Yeah, cause that’s what’s in yer head.”

“Hah! Good one, Osamu!”

“You too, ya scrub.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/B/O Dynamics:
> 
> \- Scents and smells, along with pheromones and scent glands are a vital part to society and understand the ebb and flow of people around you. A slightest shift in scent can lead to a fight, or helping channel certain signals through. Strongest scents go from omega, alpha, to beta, with a few rare exceptions of others being more adept or less adept.
> 
> \- Pheromones and scents are crucial social cues. Children typically have less of a handle on their pheromones since they haven't adapted into their second genders yet, but those born with stronger genes than others tend to show earlier signs of developmental understanding or more sensitive noses. Usually children using their pheromones in different manners are forgiven or overlooked, as they do not quite understand the magnitude of such scents yet.
> 
> \- The wristband that Mina wore is a normal requirement for all alphas when entering a public bathhouse, ryokan, or sauna. Alphas are required by law to identify themselves in these specific areas in case specific genders feel alarmed or uncomfortable by the close proximity. A simple wristband is issued with a clear, notable "alpha" symbol so they can be easily distinguished.
> 
> \- Recent debates have sparked controversy on this topic and whether or not it is fair that alphas alone must identify themselves. The usual counter-argument is that alphas have "less to worry about" when letting the public know they are alphas versus omegas revealing their status. (They basically have less to lose if people know they're alphas compared to omegas.) Whether or not this is fair is still up for debate.
> 
> @ instinct readers, (y/n) in this one is an interesting cookie to write because we have a kid whose parent isn't as kind and open about explaining second genders, so i'm looking forward to how this ends up unfolding hahahaha
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING, HOPE YOU ENJOYED, PLEASE STAY HEALTHY AND WELL!!!


	3. a princess, a pair of shoes, a deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You think it's better to live a life without conflict.
> 
> Atsumu and Osamu think otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sdkadlvfdcndscf thank you all so, so much for the insanity of your support. I'm deadass crying over how sweet y'all are and then these comments, these COMMENTS. These in-depth, paragraph length comments that clear my acne and feed my soul are more than I could ever ask for, THANK YOU FOR NOTICING THE DUMB LITTLE SHIT I PUT INTO THE STORY AND LIKING IT, IT MAKES IT SO MUCH MORE WORTH IT AIYAH.
> 
> i'm really eager to dive into high school soon too!!! but we have some milestone here first and in middle school i'm really looking forward to writing as well, hopefully you all enjoy the ride until we get there.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and for your support!

(Page 25) 

Maybe it’s somewhere in the fourth grade, three years from the first time you’d befriended the Miya twins, that things start to change.

Fourth grade’s an important time after all—you’re all a bit older, a bit more rowdy, preening and peering at the world around you through different colored lenses. There’s chatter and whispers about this and that. Girls bat their lashes or stick out their chins a bit more, boys puff out their chests or rub their arms, nervous. Fourth grade means most of you are about ten now, two years shy of an event you’ve secretly been putting a lot of thought into.

Presenting.

(They come subtle and quiet, practically unnoticeable, and maybe if you had noticed, you’d have seen they came in threes too—these changes.)

“(L/n)-chan, what does your mom do?”

Unsurprisingly, Atsumu and Osamu are the ones who look up from your desk first. Usually the layout of your seats stay the same the past two years; with you to Atsumu’s right and Osamu right behind him. During lunch like this when they’re not badgering to go outside and eat, they turn their chairs around, designating your desk as the table. You complain it’s a tight fit but they tell you not to complain and do it anyway.

Whenever it’s  _ your  _ name being called, the two identical faces are the ones who turn first, even before you. 

You’ve made fun of them for it before, but they just wave you off and tease you like they always do.  _ “Cause yer too slow, slowpoke.” _

To your complete and utter joy; the routine between the three of you hasn’t changed these years, not by much, and typically only in a nicer way. 

Summers are spent running around (Atsumu and Osamu are still rough, rude, and fun) and playing. Particularly and  _ especially  _ volleyball, which you’re rather infatuated with now, due to their influence. Your mother relented after weeks of silent begging to let you come to some of the evening clinics the local gymnasium hosted for volleyball, tagging along behind Atsumu and Osamu, your own trusted ball in hand. (“It’s free mama!” “For now.”) You even tune into games on your television since the time slots work perfectly with Madame Fortuna’s broadcasts. (Atsumu and Osamu argue over teams you’re supposed to be favoring due to their own biases, since they don’t always root for the same team, but you usually just pick your own anyway. They never forgive you on those occasions.)

Spring and fall are spent with walks to and from school, alternating nights of dinner at their place, huddling up in front of their television screen or locked up in their room where they show you new games or comics.

It actually works out, to be honest. Playing with them. It saves you a bit of effort of scouting around the park for other children to help pass the time on days where your mother specifically needs you out of the house for a certain amount of time for work. 

Sometimes you fight and argue, they way all things should be. Sometimes over dumb things and squabbles that usually involve only one or at their worst, both twins—it’s definitely not easy taking on both of them, it’s  _ hardwork _ —and blow over easily. Sometimes the spats are rougher and can go a few days with bouts of silence stretched between the two of you or one playing mediator until it settles and the cycle starts all over again.

Typically it seems you get into fights with Atsumu more than Osamu, only because Atsumu’s just the more confrontational between the two. Osamu’s fights are the ones that last longer—he can be unexpectedly cruel during those terse silences. The two of them fight each other all the time though, brawling and battling it out as you wait for them to settle it themselves.

(It feels comfortable and natural. Habitual. You really, really like it.  _ Permanent. _ )

Your integration into school was smooth and uneventful. A few eager, chatty students asking you questions about this and that until the commotion died down. You make a few companions, remember some names, but you’ve come to realize now in fourth grade that Atsumu and Osamu really do seem like your only friends while the two of them seem to get along fairly well with everyone else. They act like mediums to your relationship with some of your classmates.

_ “Be extra careful and considerate of where you stand in your friendships,”  _ Madame Fortuna’s broadcast the night before had cemented your thoughts into stone.  _ “Watch closely and nip all your problems in the bud! If you do not address them now, they will spiral and bloom, and you will have to deal with what comes.” _

You decide you’ll try to work a bit harder to get to know everyone. It doesn’t feel right to make the twins shoulder the burden of always spending time with you. You offer to be alone sometimes, in case they might want to spend time with the other boys or someone else, but they just tell you you’re dumb and never bring it up again.

It’s winter now—the days are getting colder, the air more frigid and unforgiving.

It’s two girls who are gathered beside your desk. Hime and… Ran, you remember. They’re nice and cute girls who giggle often and always wave to you. You think they’re pretty close to Atsumu and Osamu too, actually, they always know a lot about the twins. 

Even now they smile nicely at you, clearly only curious. Osamu continues to eat from his bento, chewing mouthfuls of rice while Atsumu rocks back in his seat, tipping onto the back legs while he loudly chews his own matching lunch.

“She works at an izakaya,” you say, biting into your bread and chewing. Atsumu and Osamu usually have lunch packed while you take the money your mother leaves on the table for you for the week to a convenience store. “A station over. They make really good food.”

Osamu’s eyes get a little dreamy at the mention. A few times over the past years the three of you have taken the train to the next town over, eagerly peeking into the doors of where your mother works. Usually your mother just frowns at your antics, but some nights she relents and sweeps the three of you into a back room where the cooks fawn over the twins, stuffing them full with good food and you happily watch your mother, feet swinging.

You don’t go as often now though.

That day three years ago your mother landed the job, a simple waitress at an izakaya with good hours and pay, according to her report. The two of you celebrated with yakiniku and she has worked diligently since. Her hours are in the evenings till later, so she’s often asleep when you leave the house for school and gone by the time you’re back.

_ Sometimes. _

You freeze briefly at the thought, fingers crumpling the ends of your bread. Your stomach churns. Atsumu and Osamu’s eyes swing over to you over the top of their lunches, chewing.

“Eh?” Hime says. “Is that why she couldn’t come to parent day?” You nod, ripping another piece off and chewing. “Wow, that’s awesome! She works so hard…”

You smile around your bread, nodding. Hime pulls up a chair by Atsumu, Osamu’s eyes briefly swinging over to her then back to his rice while Ran stands beside her, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop. Yer always so fun, (L/n)-chan, so we were curious!”

“It’s fine,” you say, thoroughly pleased with her words. They make you smile and you lightly rub your shoes together, “It looks weird when you’re the only one so it makes sense.”

“Atsumu-kun, yer such a messy eater,” Hime giggles, pointing out the rice scattered around Atsumu. 

“‘s Miya to you,” Atsumu says, chewing loudly without any grace.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Hime pouts, tugging the sleeve of his shirt. Atsumu smirks, unscrewing his bottle. “It’s too hard when there’s two of ya!”

Hime quickly rounds on you, leaning forward excitedly. She has fluffy hair, pulled into two cute pigtails. One brushes Atsumu’s arm and he shifts in his chair, sticking his legs out further under your desk. One of his feet hit yours and the other hits Osamu’s, forcing his twin to smack his shin right back while you sit, unbothered. “What do  _ you  _ call ‘em, (L/n)-chan? Not Miya all the time, right?”

“Osamu-san and Atsumu-san,” you say easily. Hime beams, looking validated while Atsumu continues to shovel food into his mouth.

“Drop the  _ san _ already,” Osamu says, chewing. “‘s annoyin’.”

“You always say that,” you say, not at all bothered by his words. The topic of names are always empty threats when it comes to the twins, they never really force you to stop. You feel like it fits a bit better, not too presumptuous of how close you all are. 

The class is fairly rowdy on its own, small conversations everywhere. Atsumu and Osamu prefer eating outside or in the stairwells most of the time, but the colder weather has all three of you retreating indoors.

_ “We can handle it!”  _ Atsumu had protested last week, loudly and annoyingly as usual, arms crossed outside the courtyard entrance.  _ “Who’s scared of a lil’ cold? Huh? Yer wimps!” _

_ “Yer dumb,”  _ Osamu said, bundled up in a black parka that matched his brother’s. They both have orange-reddish scarves that remind you of your fox plush at home.  _ “We’ll get sick. Ya do this every year.” _

_ “Yeah,”  _ you said, burrowing deeper into your jacket, blowing warm air onto your hands.  _ “Being sick is expensive.” _

The look Osamu gave you clearly says you don’t really have it right either, but you ignore him and continue to puff on your hands as Atsumu stubbornly refuses to relent going back inside.  _ “We can eat in the stairwell again.” _

_ “Sensei’ll get mad,”  _ Osamu said and you grimaced.  _ “We’re not supposed to eat there.” _

_ “Don’t care!”  _ Atsumu stuck his nose into the air, promptly plopping down onto the frigid ground and crossing his arms over his chest.  _ “Yer just wimps! Both of ya!” _

Osamu rolled his eyes at his brother, clearly irked as he marched out to stand beside him in the cold. You trudged out as well, burrowing deeper into your jacket that would’ve done its job right a few years ago—but it’s worn down now.

Atsumu looked smug then, clearly satisfied even when Osamu started kicking clods of frozen dirt into his brother’s lap. You crouched down beside Atsumu, blowing onto your freezing fingers as you considered the weather.  _ “...guess it’s not awful.” _

_ “Yeah, why’d you complain so much?”  _ Osamu said, looking at his brother.  _ “Yer such a wimp.” _

_ “Shut up, Osamu! Ya always complain ‘bout the cold _ —”

Your abrupt sneeze forced the two of them to look at you. You blinked, keeping your hands cupped over your mouth and warming them as you stared owlishly back.  _ “...it’s really not bad. I think I just gotta bring an extra jacket tomorrow then.” _

Atsumu and Osamu both frowned, sharing a look between them. Atsumu promptly unzipped his parka, tugging it roughly off his arms before he settled it over your shoulders. He zipped it up and over your chin before you could protest. 

Osamu opened up his parka and Atsumu shuffled, tucked right beside his brother so they both shared Osamu’s jacket. It made them look like they shared the same body, two identical heads jutting out. The twins crossed their arms over their knees, watching you with blank looks.

_ “How’s that?”  _ they chorused.

You blinked, terribly surprised by how warm his parka suddenly was— _ ah, is this what Madame Fortuna means about quality goods?  _ You weaseled an arm through the sleeve, touching the fluffy and thick material. Your shivers subsided, body warming up instantly. You curiously gave the parka a sniff, trying harder when all you caught was fabric softener— _ nope, just softener. Maybe that’s it. _

You tugged the zipper down below your chin so you could speak. Atsumu and Osamu watched you expectantly.

_ “‘s really warm,”  _ you said.  _ “Great jacket.” _

_ “We know,”  _ they both said, sounding smug. Osamu and Atsumu stood in unison, making you laugh at how stupid they looked tucked beside each other with one jacket.  _ “C’mon, let’s go inside. ‘s cold.” _

_ “Huh? You guys are giving up?” _

_ “Naw,”  _ they hauled you to your feet, grabbing one hand each and all three of you trudged back into the hallway.  _ “We just don’t wanna eat outside anymore.” _

Atsumu really must’ve been complaining that day just for the heck of it—because he was  _ fine  _ when the three of you ate in class. You originally worried if he didn’t get along with someone or maybe there was more you didn’t know—but he was just a jerk, to everyone. Naturally. (Osamu was less of a jerk but he could be a jerk too.) Despite their jerkiness he and Osamu were smooth working cogs in the classroom hierarchy, if not big ones.

You take a thoughtful bite of your bread.  _ Weirdos. _

“Osamu-kun is totally different when he eats,” Ran laughs beside Hime. “He doesn’t waste a single piece!”

You nod in agreement. It’s always been like this. For the most part, their tastes are the same but Osamu seems to worship food just a  _ bit  _ more than the three of you combined. The two girls’ giggles grow louder and Atsumu’s easy look flattens out a bit. Osamu continues to eat, quietly polishing off his last rice ball.

“(L/n)-chan ya always eat bread,” Ran says. “How come ya never pack lunch?”

You frown at your bread, feeling sheepish all of a sudden. Your mother definitely doesn’t have time to pack you lunch, and you usually alternate between breads at the convenience store since they’re cheap and there’s plenty… All the girls in your class have brought in a lunch box at one point or the other. 

“I don’t really know how,” you admit, playing with your bread. “I can cook a bit but I’ve never put one together.”

“‘Cause yer a scrub,” Atsumu snickers, waving an octopus sausage at you. “Ya can’t do anythin’ unless Osamu or I teach ya first!”

“Not true,” you say with a frown. “I know plenty of stuff on my own.” And you do, like the fortune today for all the signs and how to find the best coupons from the ads and how to barter with the butcher for better meat. 

“Weird stuff,” Osamu says, eyes glittering mischievously.

“Yeah,” Atsumu says haughtily, waving his sausage, “a ton of scrubby stuff—”

You roughly chomp down onto his sausage, pulling it clean off his chopsticks. It’s enviously delicious. Osamu snorts at Atsumu’s look, his brother ready to declare war across your desk. Atsumu promptly gathers up all his vegetables, lunging across the desk to shove it into your mouth but you duck his chopsticks, keeping your lips tightly closed.

Osamu licks his fingers clean, watching in amusement as Atsumu shoves a broccoli against your cheek. “Don’t be a picky eater, (Y/n)—”

“You’re gonna get (L/n)-chan’s desk dirty, Miya-chan!” Hime grabs the back of Atsumu’s jacket, pulling him back down into his seat. Atsumu makes a face and Hime pats his shoulder in reprimand, “Don’t make a mess of it!”

“Hah? What’s it to ya?” Atsumu says, tone haughty as he eyes Hime’s hands still grabbing onto his jacket. His lip curls up at Hime’s pout, “And where’d the  _ chan  _ come from, huh?”

“‘Cause you said not to say Atsumu-kun,” Hime chirps back, “so you’re Miya-chan and Osamu-kun is Miya-kun.”

“ _ I’m  _ the  _ kun _ ,” Atsumu says, turning to face Hime fully, eyes narrowed at her while he grins. It’s a sneaky grin, the kind you usually tell him to wipe off his face if he looks at you like that too long. Hime grins right back at him, eyes twinkling. “Ya got it backwards,  _ Princess. _ ”

Hime’s cheeks flush a bit and she pouts, tugging at Atsumu’s jacket. “Oh, yeah, Miya-chan? Guess ya got to prove it.”

_ Uwah.  _ You pop the last bit of bread into your mouth, chewing.  _ Some people really know how to meet Atsumu-san toe-to-toe.  _ Osamu closes his lunch box beside you, watching as you shuffle around your backpack and smuggle out a handful of candy. The two of you divy it up since Atsumu is preoccupied, sharing your spoils in quiet content.

“Hey! You’re gonna be the omega!”

“Nuh uh, you’re gonna be it!”

“Then you’ll be a beta!”

“Nah, I’ll be the alpha!”

The chorus of laughters break out into the classroom. A few of the other kids start grinning, catching onto the game and breaking out into similar conversations of their own. The candy in your mouth tastes a lot less sweet now and you quietly stare at the top of your desk while Osamu chews taffy beside you and Atsumu continues to fend of Hime, shoving at her while she pouts and complains to him for how rude he is.

“(L/n)-chan, what’s your mom?”

You stop, unconsciously swallowing the hard candy. It hurts going down your throat. Ran looks at you, smiling with openly curious eyes. Atsumu’s hand is on Hime’s head, shoving her away as she playfully bats at him but his eyes stay on you over the top of her pigtails. Osamu is silent, watching.

“...she’s an omega,” you say easily. That  _ is  _ the easy part. You don’t mind that your mom is an omega. You don’t think any differently of her for it. You wish you could say that to her more often too, but your mother isn’t really one for things like that.

“Eh? Really?” Hime perks up in interest, quickly turning her head to you as well. Atsumu frowns above her. “Then, what about your dad?”

Atsumu and Osamu both pause, looking at you.

Your smile is a bit awkward, but you properly deliver your response as always, “He was an alpha.”

“Wow,” Ran says, leaning into Hime. “So it’s fifty-fifty then, isn’t it? What about your grandparents?”

“If you know what they were you can usually tell what might win over,” Hime says. “That’s what my other friend did and it totally came true!”

To be honest, you have absolutely no idea. You know nothing about your father’s side of the gene pool and could care less. Your mother on the other hand wasn’t as close to her family as she used to be seemingly after things went sour with your father, leaving her out of touch. You  _ think  _ your maternal grandmother might have been an omega as well, and your grandfather… a beta? Maybe?

But you’ve learned now that saying things like  _ I’m not sure  _ breeds more questions than answers, so you run with it, “Beta and omega.”

“Hmm,  _ really  _ small chance you might be a beta then,” Ran says. “I think, right? Super small. But hey, either omega or alpha isn’t bad at all!”

You pick at the next candy wrapper, playing with the edge of the foil, “Betas are more common, so their genes should be stronger, right?”

“What? No way!” Ran protests. You work down your flinch and keep a nervous smile plastered to your lips, picking at the wrapper. “You should put yer money on alpha! Who wants to be a boring beta?”

“Right?” Hime says, leaning forward eagerly. “(L/n)-chan, yer cute too! Being an omega wouldn’t be bad, you could find a nice alpha.”

“T-Thanks,” you manage. The wrapper catches on your nail, almost ripping. “But who knows, right?”

Who does? Surely not you. Surely not anyone else. Is that really all it has to be? Your mother seems to think so too, but you still hold Madame Fortuna’s words the closest to your heart. Second genders.  _ Second genders.  _ Isn’t that all they are? Secondary? Did you understand that word wrong?

“Eh? But Hime-chan, you totally want to be an alpha!” Ran giggles, nudging her friend who pouts. “Yer papa’s an alpha.”

“Mhm,” Hime says, running her fingers through her ponytail and grinning at all three of you. “I don’t care too much, but being an alpha seems fun.”

_ Fun.  _ You work that word around in your head and try to somehow match it to  _ alpha _ , find any kind of relationship.  _ Fun?  _ You quietly cling onto Mina’s grinning face, a copy of her sons and your heart settles a bit.  _ Well, that’s okay… right? _

“And Miya-chan, Miya-kun,” Hime says, turning to Atsumu and Osamu with a wide, beaming smile. “Both your parents are alphas, right?”

“Yup,” Atsumu drags out the word, eyes glittering devilishly as a cocky smirk stretches over his lips. You set the candy down and move your hands into your lap, shifting a bit in your seat.  _ And they’re not… losers. _

Osamu leans his chin onto one hand, watching his brother with that sleepy look of his. Hime’s eyes are a bit sparkly and Ran claps her hands energetically at both of them, “Wow! That’s amazing! So the two of ya will definitely be alphas, huh?”

Ran quicky turns back to you and you jump a bit in surprise, looking up as she beams, “And (L/n)-chan, you’d make a good—”

“And Ran- _ chan _ , yer parents are both betas, right?”

Ran stiffens, quickly flushing at Atsumu’s words. Hime straightens a bit with a frown, looking at Atsumu’s warm, boyish grin and relaxing a bit as he continues to smile at the other girl. Osamu’s fist covers his mouth, hiding his expression.

“So yer definitely gonna be a beta,” Atsumu says.

“Y-Yeah,” Ran says, laughing a bit. “But there’s nothin’ wrong with—”

“Ya talk an awful lot about other stuff if you’re just gonna be a beta,” Osamu says, expression completely at ease. Ran’s eyes drop down to her shoes, cheeks flushing red. You pause, looking quickly between the twins. “Wanna be somethin’ else?”

“N-No, not really,” Ran says.

“Who cares about all that stuff anyway?” Hime giggles, shoving Atsumu’s arm with her shoulder and his grin widens, not meeting his eyes. You feel your own shoulders relax a bit, hands settling back down into your lap. “Gets borin’ to talk about all the time. Ya know what, (L/n)-chan we should hang out sometime! Ran and I can teach ya how to make a bento!”

“Y-Yeah!” Ran says, eagerly grabbing your hands and lifting them up. “We can teach ya to make all kinds of cute ones!”

“Oh,” you raise your head, eyes brightening at the prospect. Ran and Hime smile, cute and happy and you smile back at them, feeling lighter. “Yeah. That sounds like a lot of fun!”

_ Learning to make lunches and making more friends?  _ You feel your fingers shift in Ran’s hands.  _ Ah, just one more _ — “We can all do it together.”

Hime’s eyes brighten, nodding eagerly as she turns to Atsumu and Osamu with a huge smile. “Right? Doesn’t that sound like fun—”

“Not at  _ all _ ,” Atsumu says, tossing his hands behind his head and rocking his chair back. Hime's smile falters and she quickly pouts and Ran’s hands slide from yours. “Sounds borin’.”

“I think it sounds fun,” you murmur, frowning as you turn to Osamu. “Right, Osamu-san?”

“Not really,” Osamu says breezily. You blink at him in surprise. Ran’s cheeks flush and Hime continues to smile. 

“We… can think of something else then!” Hime says happily. “There’s lots of things to do out there.”

A soft  _ crinkle  _ draws your eyes to where Osamu’s unraveled the candy. He holds the piece out to you, waiting expectantly. You frown at him but open your mouth, letting him feed you the piece.  _ But making a bento sounds… really fun. _

Osamu and Atsumu grin.

(Page 26)

“Hah! Did you see how she was all over me today? Yeesh!” Atsumu laughs, loud and uncaring with his arms crossed behind his head. Osamu walks beside him on his right and you’re on his left. “She couldn’t keep her hands off me!”

“And she reeked,” Osamu says, grinning as impishly as his brother as they shove each other. “Now ya stink, Atsumu. Take a bath.”

“Ugh! I know,” Atsumu complains, sniffing at his arm and scowling. “All they do is yap yap yap. Bet that other one’s got it in for ya, Osamu.”

Osamu looks mildly disgruntled by the idea. Atsumu snickers, shoving his elbow into his brothers and Osamu does it right back, the two of them laughing.

Your jaw goes slack, staring at the twins in horrified disbelief. Your feet nearly trip over themselves and Atsumu and Osamu turn at your bumbling words, raising matching brows at your expression.

“That’s… isn’t that  _ mean _ ?” you say in disbelief, feeling a strange sense of deja vu. “I… I thought you guys liked them…”

“Did we ever  _ say  _ we liked them?” Atsumu says, crossing his arms over his chest. Osamu shoves his hands into the pockets of his parka, looking just as smug. “No, right? If we didn’t, then we  _ don’t _ . Duh.”

“Don’t be such a scrub,” Osamu says. “Isn’t it obvious? They’re annoyin’.”

“...you guys are kinda terrible,” you say, blinking at them with round eyes. “Isn’t this kinda shady?”

“Do  _ you  _ like ‘em?” Atsumu says loudly, cocking his head at you. You pause, quickly considering his words.

“Well,” you say, thinking to Ran and Hime’s nice smiles despite their words. “I don’t…  _ not  _ like them. They’re nice—”

“Ya didn’t like what they talked about though,” Osamu says and you wince.

“Yeah, but still—” you just didn’t like the topic of conversation, not the people who brought it up. 

“That means ya don’t like them,” Atsumu sums up for you. “Don’t be phony, remember? If ya don’t like someone, ya don’t like ‘em.”

“Ran-san and Hime-san aren’t bad people,” you say with a frown, picking up your pace again. Atsumu and Osamu watch you with half-lidded eyes as they walk in-step beside you. “They’re nice. I think we can be friends with them.”

“Whether they’re nice or bad doesn’t matter,” Osamu says. “Just cause someone’s not a bad person, doesn’t mean we gotta like ‘em.”

His words are unarguably true. You still frown at the floor. It’s not uncommon for the two of them to be blunt about how they feel towards people, but still!  _ You should try to get along with most people unless they’re terrible. _

“But still…” you mumble, tugging at the straps of your backpack. Atsumu rolls his eyes, puffing out one cheek. “You’ve known them for awhile, right? So maybe you should try to get along…”

“Don’t wanna,” Atsumu says flatly, turning to you with narrowed eyes. “And no one’s gonna make me either. Whaddya stickin’ up for them for anyway, huh?  _ We’re  _ yer friends, not  _ them _ .”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” you protest, rolling your eyes stubbornly back at him and looking away. Atsumu scowls at you. “I’m not saying anything bad about  _ you _ .”

You stop, considering the thought for a moment before you look back at Atsumu, “Actually, you’re a jerk.”

“Oh, yeah?” Atsumu challenges, tugging roughly on the back of your backpack. You jerk, almost falling backwards with the motion. He grins, showing off his baby canines, “Least I ain’t a scrub who can’t even make lunch.”

Your jaw drops at Atsumu in shock, stabbed directly through the heart. “H-Hey! I’m gonna try to learn! Shut up!”

“Scrub,” Atsumu says, tugging you around by your backpack. You teeter on your feet and his grin widens. “Just stay a scrub, scrub— _ hey! _ ”

You pull your arms free, taking your backpack and shoving forward into Atsumu. He falls back onto his ass, hugging your backpack and looking up at you in disbelief. 

You stick your tongue out at him.

In an instant Atsumu scrambles back to his feet, chasing you in circles around his brother as he holds your backpack over his head to toss at you. “Hold still, ya—”

“What do ya like about ‘em, (Y/n)?”

You skid to a halt. Atsumu slams into your back with a grunt and the two of you both nearly topple over face first until Atsumu drops your backpack and wraps his arms around your middle, bracing his feet so neither of you fall. You both turn your heads in unison to Osamu who stands beside you, the lower half of his mouth hidden by his scarf.

All three of you can see the short puffs of air coming from your mouths, small clouds of warmth in the frigid air.

“Hime-san and Ran-san?” you ask. Osamu nods, hands in his pockets. “They’ve never not been nice to me… they’re pretty cute too.”

“Cute?” Atsumu says loudly above you, shoving his freezing hands into the pockets of your own jacket. “Those pigs?”

"And I feel like I should try harder," you say thoughtfully, "to make more friends. You guys will get sick of me."

"Like you can make more friends," Atsumu says, jostling you. You huff at him. "We're the coolest friends you've got. Why would ya need anyone else, huh?"

“But they haven’t done anything bad,” you say, meeting Osamu’s face with a frown. “So… isn’t that fine?”

Osamu considers you for a moment, hard to read with that lazy look he wears. Atsumu makes a face over the top of your head and Osamu smiles a bit, shrugging his shoulders. “‘Kay then.”

“Ugh, this is annoyin’,” Atsumu says, turning both of you toward their house. You squawk in protest as he walks the two of you like joined robots, Osamu pulling up beside you. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

“Me too,” Osamu says. “It’s hard work dealin’ with scrubs like you.”

“Yer talkin’ about  _ one  _ scrub.”

“Naw, I meant two.”

You sigh through your nose, still feeling much more content now as Atsumu lunges for his brother and Osamu easily dodges his swipes. Your hands tuck into your warmed pockets and you huff to yourself.

_ Kids should just try to get along with each other.  _ You nod, resolute.  _ It’s just easier that way. Life without conflict, like Madame Fortuna says. _

(Page 27)

But children can also be naturally, unexpectedly cruel.

(Page 28)

You hesitate in the genkan when you hear the shower running.

A bit of sweat trails down the back of your neck. You think it’s just because of the warmth of your house coupled with the stuffiness of your thick jacket against the cold outside. But your eyes linger on the small heater your mother has set up in the living room and it isn’t on. 

You carefully start tugging off your shoes. Your belly is full and happy, filled with Mina’s curry. Osamu and Atsumu complained you were leaving too early, but you wanted to do extra studying on fractions. They were a bit tough for you.  _ Mama will probably get dinner at work again. _

Your feet look a lot smaller than you remember, even though you know you’re getting bigger. You’re growing fine. Your weight is a bit on the lighter side, but your height is normal. You’re barely an inch shorter than the twins. Your muscles are fit for a ten-year old from all the activity—nothing is malnourished or lower than anyone else.

(You aren’t lesser than anyone else.)

But your feet are still terribly small compared to unfamiliar shoes sitting beside your mother’s heels.

Your grip on your backpack tightens. A small, hesitant smile on your face as you try to sniff the air as hard as you can. The regular scents of your house are all you smell, coupled with your mother’s quiet, barely noticeable scent.

You gingerly step into your house. You lightly tap your fingers against the strap of your backpack, in-time with the pulse of your heart as you quietly search the living room. The shower runs deeper into your mother’s room and you notice her door is slightly ajar, the soft drone of a radio filling the rest of the silence.

Your house looks completely the same. Small, newly acquired things—a second television set, an old one sits in the living room while your mother moved one into your room, just for you and your late night showings. A small sofa now sits in your living room in front of the kotatsu that also works as a coffee table.

A thick, crumpled white envelope sits on the corner of the kotatsu top. You stare at it for a long time before looking away.

You sniff the air again, harder. The light wisp of cigarette smoke meets you and you quickly burrow your face deeper into your jacket, hurrying into your room with your eyes lowered to the ground.

You greet your fox plush with a warm squeeze over the top of its worn head, dropping your backpack beside your volleyball and quickly turning on the television as you settle down in front of your desk, tugging out books and homework.

A series of blaring commercials fill the void of silence, calming the nervous thrumming in your veins.  _ “Big sale! Travel discounts on Nara packages. Come see age old shrines and…” _

It clears out your head of second genders and big shoes, leaving nothing but room for complicated fractions and equations.

(Page 29)

“Osamu! Give it here, ya jerk!”

The ball slides effortlessly from Osamu’s fingers, landing right into his brother’s as though it belonged there. Atsumu grins viciously, pounding the basketball against the gym floor as he zips right through the other team’s point guard and launches the ball.

The net  _ swishes _ , echoing throughout the gym as the boys break out into a ruckus of laughter and hoots. Atsumu throws his arm around his brother’s shoulders and Osamu grins as their team cheers—a simple gym period victory, but a fun one nonetheless because when it comes to the two of them, everything’s a competition.

You grin over the top of your arm, pressing your cheek against your gym sweater—a soft maroon color over the black shorts all students are required to wear for uniform. Your legs are stretched out in front of you, leaning over your knee as the teacher instructs the girls on the next stretch. You’re pretty sure it’s utterly unfair that the girls have to do stretches and high jumps while the boys get to play basketball, but physical education is sadly not a democracy.

Atsumu and Osamu’s eyes quickly sweep over the other side of the gym, skipping over the other girls until they find you in the corner. They grin, sticking their tongues out as they mimic you and stretch out their legs. You sneer right back at them, snickering as they get yelled at to get back onto the court.

“Wow,” a soft voice murmurs beside you. “The Miya twins really  _ are  _ amazing.”

“Right?” you turn over as another girl speaks up, eyes shining at the first. “They’re so hard to approach sometimes, but it’s fine to just watch.”

“I know what you mean,” another girl drops in and you blink at all of them curiously. “They’re kinda scary sometimes, I get so nervous!”

You look up at the gym ceiling, thinking about their words.  _ Scary  _ isn’t quite right… intimidating is close, but you think the best is that the twins can really just be  _ mean  _ when they want to be. And they seem to want to be a lot.

“But they’re really cute,” one girl blushes, unable to help herself. A few giggle, nudging her with their feet. “If they weren’t so hard to talk to…”

“They’ll definitely present as alphas,” another says, sighing wistfully. You quickly turn to her. “They’re totally alpha material… the other boys must be jealous.”

“Right?” one girl says. “It’s totally noticeable!”

“...what makes you think that?” you ask hesitantly. One girl quickly turns to you with round eyes, blinking in disbelief. “‘Cause they’re athletic?”

“Eh? Not just that!” she says eagerly. “Don’t they just… give off that vibe? Like they’re different from regular people. They’re confident and charming and… well, they seem like they’re good at everything!”

Definitely not fractions. They’re worse at those than you are. They could work harder at skipping rocks too.

“Yeah, yeah,” another girl says. “When kids seem like they’re gonna present as alphas, their…  _ aura  _ is just super different. It’s real easy to tell!”

You try your hardest to think up reasons Atsumu and Osamu could be more “alpha material” than anyone else, aside from their genetics. Sure, they were really good at plenty of things, but they were just as bad… their teeth? They had bigger canines than you. They even showed it off from time to time when all three of you crowded around a mirror, prodding at your own and checking each other’s. You remember almost biting off Osamu’s hand with a snicker.  _ No.  _ Then…

But they’re not like your father, not in the slightest.  _ Mina and Shinto only smell like him.  _ The most confusing part of this world, you’re starting to realize, is understanding second genders. They don’t make sense, wrapped up in a bundle of contradictions and confusions and nothing seems to be exactly like anyone else says.

If Atsumu and Osamu ended up being alphas, would they smell like your father too?

_ Would they _ —

“But they’re so mean,” you mutter, looking up at the ceiling with constipated brows. You’re thinking terribly hard about this. “Is that really it?”

One girl giggles. “Yer not wrong! They’re pretty hard to talk to, huh?”

“Hime-chan, you’re never scared to talk to ‘em,” a girl turns to where Hime looks up from her stretch, Ran beside her. “You’re so brave!”

Hime laughs, shaking her pigtails, “Of course not! They ain’t scary. They’re just boys.”

You unconsciously nod in agreement. The most terrified you’ve ever been of either of them was the absolute dogfight they got into over a lie one of them told (what even was that lie again?)—Mina had to break them up that time, hitting both of their heads so hard you thought they saw stars.

Your eyes stray back to the court where a new game’s started up, Atsumu and Osamu running fast across the court as they dribble the ball between them, leaving other boys in their dust. They grin like idiots.

“Hime-chan’s been able to handle them since kindergarten,” Ran says. Hime giggles, bashful. “You’re the bravest of all of us.”

“Hey, hey, who’s cuter?” one girl says. “Atsumu-kun or Osamu-kun?”

“Eh? Osamu-kun for sure, he’s much nicer than his brother! I feel like I can talk to him easier.”

“But Atsumu-kun is so brave. And he’s confident! I’d like him more than his brother.”

_ No, they’re actually carbon copies of each other.  _ You lower yourself to the ground between your legs for the next stretch, even though the rest of the girls continue to chat. The teacher’s by the water jug.  _ Osamu’s just quieter about it.  _

“At least they both  _ look  _ the same. I can hardly tell them apart sometimes.”

“Right? I just say  _ Miya  _ cause I’m too scared to mess up.”

_ Ah, it’s the hair.  _ You grin, watching Atsumu and Osamu end up shoving each other on the court, spitting insults and grabbing at the ball. “You’re on the same team!” someone shouts.  _ Has no one noticed the part yet?  _ “Actually—”

“No, way, they’re totally different,” Hime says smoothly, looking confused at the rest of the girls. You look up.  _ Oh, Hime noticed too. That makes sense. She’s known them longer than I have.  _ “Can’t you guys tell?”

“Eh? How do you tell?” 

“Their smells are different,” Hime says, tipping her head to the side. “It’s really strong—they both have different smells. That’s how I tell them apart.”

“Hime-chan, you’re too cool,” Ran pouts, ditching the stretch. The rest of the girls are folding their legs and nodding at her. You blink, still stretched out like a mat. “Your sense of smell… you’ll definitely be an alpha too.”

“Yeah, it makes sense! Hime’s so brave.”

“And she’s got a great character!”

_ That’s just her.  _ You press your head against your knee, staring at the hardwood floor.  _ Hime’s a good person because she’s Hime. Not because she’s an alpha.  _

“But that means ya smell ‘em a lot too, right?” one girl teases. Hime pouts. “If ya can tell the difference…”

“I’m just around them a lot!” Hime laughs, “Who’d go outta their way to smell a couple of dummies like them—”

“What do they smell like?”

Hime stops, blinking. The girls turn over to where you’re watching Hime with wide, curious eyes. Your hands are splayed out in front of you, lowered into another stretch. You shift, trying to hide your excitement.

“Huh? (L/n)-chan you’re with ‘em all the time,” one girl says. “You gotta know what they smell like!”

“Yeah, you guys are like a set. I totally forgot! You spend a crazy amount of time with them, huh?”

“What the heck—(L/n)-chan, how do you guys get along so well? The Miyas always chase girls off,” one girl complains. “Not gentlemen at all!”

“Right? We’re just tryna be friends!”

“Ever since you transferred yer always with ‘em, right?” one girl adds. Hime watches you. “Are you their cousin or somethin’?”

“No, we’re neighbors,” you say politely. A few girls  _ ooooh _ . Some look more intrigued. “I met them when I first moved in. They helped me get settled.”

“So they can be sweet! I’m jealous!”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling a bit. “I’m real lucky they helped me. I’d be pretty lost—”

“How come ya don’t know what they smell like then?”

You look up at Hime’s smiling face, innocently curious. Ran’s quiet beside her and Hime leans back onto her hand, raising one. “It’s really strong, ya know? I’m surprised!”

“My… nose is pretty bad,” you say, a bit sheepish as you watch your warbled reflection on the wood floor. “I can’t smell scents really well. It has to be really, really strong.”  _ Like when they’re happy or upset or real mad. _

“Oh,” Hime says, tilting her head to the side. Her smile widens, eyes brightening. “I get ya! Well, Atsumu-kun smells like mint. It’s a really nice, crisp smell. Osamu-kun smells like almonds!”

_ Mint.  _ You think in wonder.  _ Mint and almonds… the two of them smell like that?  _ You had no idea. _Maybe once?_ You thought if anything, the two of them usually smelled like...

“Eh?” a group of girls chorus. “That sounds nice! I wanna smell too…”

“Well, when we get older our pheromones will get stronger,” Hime says. The girls nod, listening. “So it’ll be even easier for most of us. Even I’ve got a smell!” You wince, looking sideways out of guilt, even though it wasn’t even your fault.  _ I just feel bad they said such mean things about her smell. Stupid Atsumu-san and Osamu-san.  _ “We’ll all get one.”

_...will I have a smell too?  _ You experimentally sniff your shoulder.  _ Fabric softener.  _ If you did, you’d want to be like your mother on her happiest days. A light, airy scent that barely sticks. She never smells like anything heavy, always just barely there—

“But (L/n)-chan, since you can’t even smell pheromones… you’ll probably be a beta then, right?”

You blink, quietly looking up at Ran’s words. Your back straightens a bit from your stretch and she smiles at you, Hime at her side, silent while the other girls watch. Ran continues, her smile knowing, “I’m the same, but even  _ I  _ can smell a bit. Since Atsumu-kun and Osamu-kun have such strong ones even though we haven’t even presented, and you can’t even smell it—it’s probably a done deal!”

You’ll probably be a… beta?

“Ran-chan,” Hime says, laughing a bit. “We shouldn’t assume—”

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

(Really?)

“Do you really think so?”

Ran falters. A few girls blink.

_ “Being a beta is the best.” _

_ “The rest are losers.” _

Your eyes are round, back straight. Your hands curl against the floor, eyes sparkling at her words. You feel your heart thundering a bit in your chest, picking up speed as you swallow. A small blush touches your cheeks and you continue, “That’s… that’d be great!”

Hime’s brows furrow in disbelief beside Ran’s stunned look. Her hand tightly clenches into a fist by her thigh.

Some of the girls laugh, “Well, it’s true being a beta’s way easier! (L/n)-chan, yer pretty funny!”

_ No one’s ever told me I might be a beta before.  _ Your heart pounds in excitement, bubbling up from your gut.  _ I’ve been thinking so hard about it but mama doesn’t like talking and I was never sure… does that really mean I have a chance? I don’t care if I can’t smell, that’s okay _ .

“...great?” Hime asks kindly. “That’s a funny way to put it.”

“No, it’d be really great,” you say, looking at the floor. Your smile is stupidly blinding. “It really, really would…” 

Hime’s smile becomes a bit strained. “But you’d just be a—”

“One, two aaaaaand…” you blink at the shadow that falls over you, quickly turning over your shoulder. “Stretch!”

You let out a pitiful wheeze when all of Atsumu’s weight comes crashing down onto your back. He completely throws himself over you, hands hanging over your shoulder while his chin digs into the top of your head, forcing you down and down.  _ Ah, he’s warm.  _ Your wheeze breaks into a strangled sound of death when Osamu wordlessly plops down in front of you, using his feet to kick yours further apart into a wider stretch and he grabs your hands to pull you forward. Your muscles creak in protest.

“What were those scrubby stretches?” Osamu says, pulling you forward. You wheeze. Atsumu snickers above you, dangling off your back. “Gotta try harder, (Y/n).”

“Put yer back into it!” Atsumu says, draping over you. “One, two and—”

“ _ You  _ try stretching like this!” you gasp out, smacking your head into Atsumu’s face. He squawks, toppling backwards behind you. Osamu releases your hands and you fall back into Atsumu as well with an indignant cry.

“Two for one deal,” he grins, lazy.

The few girls near you are chattering a bit now, surprised, nervous eyes and blushes coloring their faces. Atsumu takes in their attention with easy swagger, propping himself back up and shoving you upright. “Baby stretches like these are  _ easy _ . Whatcha complainin’ about?”

“Try it,” you challenge, turning to face him. Atsumu’s brows wriggle warily at your narrowed eyes and proximity, slightly tilting his chin up. “Betcha can’t.”

“Bet I  _ can _ ,” Atsumu says snobbishly. He quickly stretches out his legs, matching your former position. “Just like this, right?”

“Naw,” Osamu says, copying your butterfly stretch with a peaceful sense of calm. “Now you gotta try to bend backwards without falling—like limbo.”

“Hah! Easy!” Atsumu squats, slowly bending backwards. You watch in dull disbelief as he continues to huff and puff the entire way, chest boasting and grin cocky as he leans further backwards. “See? What did I tell ya—”

Atsumu’s thighs give out on him and he falls flat on his back, head smacking into the gym floor. You laugh, the sound light and airy as Osamu grins beside you and Atsumu yelps, clutching the back of his head. A few girls giggle and Osamu shoots them a brief look from the corner of his eye before looking back at his brother. “Dang it! I almost had it! Better than what either of you two can do!”

“Atsumu, yer sure dumb,” Osamu says.

“Can it, Osamu!”

Atsumu scowls without malice, pouting as he rubs his head and sits up, watching you laugh with narrowed eyes. His lips tug at the corners, shoving your side with his foot. “Who’re ya laughing at, punk?”

You grin, putting your legs together and holding your ankles. Osamu and Atsumu mimic your stretch, grinning impishly at you. “You, dummy. What’re you doing over here?”

“M-Miya-kun, aren’t you afraid of getting in trouble?” a girl asks besides you. Atsumu and Osamu’s eyes both swivel over to her and she flushes under the attention. “S-Sensei is right over there!”

“Let her get mad,” Atsumu says loudly. “It’s getting boring over there, we keep beatin’ everybody!”

“Atsumu-san, you shouldn’t say things like that,” you chide, “the stars will become your enemy if you become one of them.”

Osamu looks at you with furrowed brows, clearly trying to convey to you that your entire statement didn’t make a lick of sense. Madame Fortuna’s words  _ almost _ always make sense to you.

“‘s true though,” Atsumu says, bored. He hands off you like some kind of animal—a sloth, you think. He’s very warm, warmer than the heater of the gym and the still cold floors. Osamu radiates the same kind of childish warmth in front of you where he offers his hands to help you stretch again with a mischievous grin. You decline. “Right, Osamu?”

“Right.”

“Then maybe we should tell sensei to put us against you,” Atsumu and Osamu pause, meeting each other’s eyes briefly before they turn together in unison to Hime standing before the three of you. She grins, a cute, lively grin, “See if yer still all bark, right?”

“... _ ha _ ,” Atsumu says with a little huff of a laugh. His brows are quirked up like the corner of his lip, tugging into a smirk. Osamu’s face is neutral, but his eyes match his brother’s. “Ya think so?”

(He smiles like that when he wants to fight.)

You can’t help your slightly surprised frown, wondering if you’re imagining things.

“Yer pretty confident,” Osamu drawls.

Hime grins at him. Ran hesitantly steps up to her side, peeking over at the twins and letting her eyes linger on Osamu before she smiles as well, matching Hime’s confident stride. The girls around you are staring up at Hime in awe.  _ She really is pretty tough. I think… I think if being alpha is supposed to be like that, she’s really not that bad after all, right? _

“It would be pretty fun,” you pipe up. Osamu turns to you and Atsumu lowers his head to your shoulder to get a look at the side of your face. “Playin’ a game. Stretches get boring.”

“You wanna play?” Atsumu’s eyes brighten and his grin widens, eager. “Then come on, scrub! Osamu and I will wipe the floor clean with ya.”

“Bet sensei won’t even notice,” Osamu says, sneaking a glance at your teacher by the water bottles, on the phone with someone. “C’mon, let’s go grab a ball.”

“Miya-kun, you might get in trouble,” Ran giggles. Osamu’s blinks once, looking over to her. “But a game does sound fun!”

“Right?” Hime says, joining in with a huge smile. She nudges Atsumu’s shoulder, eyes on where his hands dangle around your neck. Her finger’s start to tighten into his gym sweater. “Sensei won’t be too mad if we just play a bit for fun! Let’s do three on three!”

You perk up, eyes bright. Hime’s smile widens, lightly trying to tug Atsumu off you. “(L/n)-chan, you can be on our team—”

“She’s on  _ our  _ team.”

You blink. Atsumu’s warm cheek presses flush to yours. When you try to look at him all you can see is the surprisingly long curve of his lashes over his eyes. You feel his lips curled up into some kind of grin though, his weight still heavy on you.

Hime’s grip on Atsumu’s sweater is lost when Osamu leans back onto his hands, forcing her to pull her hand back as he relaxes, shifting his weight to his palms. 

“Pick someone else,” Osamu finishes nonchalantly, staring right back at Hime, expression almost lazy.

_ Oh, right.  _ You move your fingers.  _ Because our set of three is pretty great... I don’t really want to switch it up either... _

Hime’s smile falters. Her nose twitches.

Atsumu’s grin widens. You don’t see it. Or the way it—

You pause. _Oh._ Did you imagine it?

“Hey! You two! Miya!” all three of you whip your heads to where your sensei is making quick time across the gym, waving her fist at you. “What do you think you’re doing? Get back onto the court!”

“Yikes, scram, Osamu!” Atsumu snickers, he and his brother lightly shoving you in farewell as they scramble to their feet and dodge your teacher’s hands, running back to the basketball court. “Sensei, we were just bored!”

“If you’re bored, how about I make you run some laps! Get back to your side!”

“But  _ sensei _ , we’ve been here the whole time!”

“I—you two!”

You laugh, watching them run circles around your teacher while the rest of the class laughs as well. Days like this, you think, are really the best.

You never even notice that Hime doesn’t smile, staring hard at the floor.

(You thought you smelled it for a second, a sharp bitter smell, like mint and almonds.)

(Page 30)

Your hands tremble a little bit in excitement as you reverently hold the simple permission slip in your hands. You can’t help but read over the words again and again, instilling the date and time and event into memory. Your backpack thumps against your back, matching your bouncing pace while complaints fall deaf to your ears, loud and whiny.

“ _ Ugh.  _ A trip to a nature museum? How borin’ is that?”

“Atsumu, ya scrub, we haven’t even gone yet.”

“Shut up, Osamu, ya know it’s gonna be borin’.”

“I  _ know _ it’s gonna be borin’ but stop remindin’ me it’s gonna be boring.”

Atsumu and Osamu walk side by side with you on Osamu’s left this time. He keeps one hand on one of your backpack straps, making sure you don’t run into a pole for the fourth time from how intently you keep reading your papers instead of watching where you put your feet. He and his brother both frown at you, clearly displeased with your compliance to the issue at hand.

Your class trip for the fourth grade year is a simple day outing to a small nature center. It’s a basic but massive facility that doubles as a park and teaches students about simple natural sciences. It’s nothing grand like a trip to a beachside area or a cool spot in Hyogo, but…

You can’t help but think it’s the first of many more class trips with the twins.

“ _ Ugh _ ,” Atsumu rubs his nose, frowning at you. “We get it. Ya like the stupid park.”

“Do I smell?” you blink, looking up from your papers curiously. Atsumu and Osamu share a rather exclusive look.

“Nah,” they both chorus. “Ya just have that dumb look.”

“I-It’ll be fun!” you protest, showing them the permission slip. Osamu and Atsumu roll their eyes together and you pout. “Look! We’ll even get to pet animals!”

“‘s only fun if there’s something cool,” Osamu says. “Like a tiger.”

“Or a lion,” Atsumu adds.

“Or  _ both _ ,” they say together.

You grimace, staring at the photos of rabbits and birds presented on the flyer. Atsumu and Osamu grin, looking a bit victorious as you continue to pout, carefully holding your permission slip so it doesn’t crease. “Well…  _ I  _ think it’ll be fun.”

“Maybe we can bring a ball,” Osamu says. “Then we can play when they give us free time.”

“Yeah!” Atsumu says, grinning in excitement. “We can just play the whole time, forget that dum stuff!”

“Right? I’m a genius.”

“Shut up, Osamu, ya just had  _ one  _ good idea out of—”

You briefly tune the two of them out, smiling at the paper as you run your eyes through the list of instructions one more time. Sturdy boots… warm clothes for the day since it might snow… a lunch—

You pause, blinking at the directions for bringing your own lunch. The picture beside it was several students with their bentos, grinning at the camera.

_...everyone brings boxed lunches to stuff like this, right?  _ You nervously tighten your grip on the paper.  _ Bringing bread again… would be weird…  _ But odds were your mother would be too busy the night before with work and too tired the morning of to help you make a lunch. You rack your brain for images of your fridge. There had to be an old cooking book somewhere in your house…

“What do you want in yer bento, (Y/n)?”

You freeze, looking up in surprise. Atsumu and Osamu are both staring right back at you, expressions nonchalant and almost uncaring—your eyes grow round at both of them in disbelief, mouth going slack.

“H-How did you know I was—”

“We can read your mind,” they say at the same time, looking smug.

(Atsumu and Osamu spent the last three minutes watching you press your finger into that single lunch instruction.)

“I—wait, my bento?” you repeat, blinking rapidly. They look at you like you’re stupid. “What do you mean by that?”

“Yer lunch,” Osamu says, Atsumu resting his chin on his brother’s shoulder. “What do ya want in it? Mom will make it nice if it’s you.”

“Yeah, she tells us to eat whatever unless we’re  _ real  _ good,” Atsumu says. “But we can totally convince her to make something  _ crazy  _ good. Like karaage!”

“Or ramen,” Osamu says with a glint in his eye. His brother grunts at him.

“Osamu, it’d be all soggy then.”

“It’ll still taste good.”

“No, it won’t—yer crazy!”

“Make me… a bento?” you say again, trying to process the words. Atsumu and Osamu nod. “Oh, no—no, it’s fine! I don’t need anything like that. Um, that’s okay—”

“ _ Hah _ ?” Atsumu says, looking at you in disbelief. “What’re you sayin’? Just take the lunch, you don’t have one yerself!”

“Atsumu and I know how to make our own,” Osamu adds. “We’ll just make yours too. Mom just helps us with harder stuff.”

“I can’t,” you protest. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“It’s not even a big deal—”

“No skin off our teeth—”

“Just extra food—”

“So take it and just—”

“...I’m going to try making it myself,” you say quietly. Atsumu and Osamu effectively pause, blinking at your words and halting their own. You twiddle your fingers over the paper before continuing, a bit sheepishly, “I gotta learn anyhow… I just figured I could try this time.”

Osamu’s mouth is the one prepared to open this time, eyes narrowed slightly, but his brother pinches his elbow, shooting him a look and Osamu manages to press his lips shut, looking pained by the entire ordeal.

“Maybe I can ask Hime-chan for help,” you mumble, looking thoughtfully at the ground. A bit of cold tickles your nose. “Ran-chan seemed to now a lot too…”

Osamu’s expression flattens out while Atsumu’s lips turn down into a scowl. They meet each other’s eyes in a sideways stare before turning their gazes back to you.   
“Why would ya ask a scrub like that for help?” Atsumu says loudly. “ _ We  _ teach ya the best.”

“They don’t know anythin’ about food,” Osamu says, tone flat. “Don’t.”

“I-I could just ask them for tips,” you frown, rubbing your fingers together.  _ But maybe it would be too much of a bother.  _

“But I can do it on my own, too. It shouldn’t be too hard,” you say firmly, nodding to yourself. “I’ll make something simple and really good. Don’t worry, I’ll bring my lunch and even share with you guys.”

Osamu’s face still looks constipated, brows creased together in an effort not to speak out. Atsumu looks at him and his brother looks right back, thoughts flying between the two of them before Osamu looks away and Atsumu smirks, turning to you.

“Alright, how about a penalty game then?”

“Huh?” you turn to them.

“If ya can’t make a decent lunch,” Atsumu says, almost lazy, “ya get a penalty, got it?”

“...that doesn’t sound really fair,” you murmur, rubbing your chin in thought. “If I don’t make a lunch…”

“It’s a deal then,” Atsumu says, roughly shoving your shoulder. You blink, stumbling from the impact. His lips curl up into a wide grin. “Do yer best then, (Y/n)—we’re not easy judges!”

“But I didn’t say—”

“And yer not allowed to ask for help,” Osamu adds. “From anyone in our class.”

“Wait, but I didn’t say—”

“Shake on it,” both twins order, sticking out their hands for you to shake. You blink again, bewildered, but somehow still find yourself raising both hands. Atsumu and Osamu clasp their hands over yours, pumping it up and down in a firm shake before they grin, mischievous.

“It’s a  _ deal  _ then.”

It takes you a few more seconds to realize once more you’ve found yourself caught up in their pace. You stare in disbelief at your traitorous hand before looking at them, expression rather somber for your age.

“...you guys are terrible.”

“Hah? Say that again!”

You honestly can’t wait.

(To be honest, the twins are looking forward to it a bit more now too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's fourth grade I think you guys know who's coming up ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. a trip, a gift, and a new friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu and Osamu know there's plenty they know, and plenty they don't. They've always been told not to order, not to push, so they'll pull just enough to keep it taut.
> 
> You want to get along with everyone, but you know that's not always how things work out. You'd like to hope though.
> 
> The three of you might just be the reason why a certain someone loses a few years of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for waiting! I can't thank you all enough for the warm reception, the kind words, the insane amount of love for this story and for everyone even just remotely interested! Thank you so much for reading, thanks again for waiting!
> 
> Haikyuu's over and I'm so full and so empty at the same time. This is how I'll cope.
> 
> I do not own Haikyuu!

(Page 31)

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Out of all the lunches,” you say again, holding up your pen to your stickered notebook. “Which is the most popular with everyone? Top three, please.”

The old man in charge of the school meals stares at you like you’re saying something strange. He looks at you a bit funny too.  _ Maybe it’s the stickers.  _ You wait patiently though, hoping he’ll be able to further your investigation.

Atsumu and Osamu are waiting in the classroom for you to go buy your bread. You didn’t tell them about the detour you were taking so they wouldn’t call you out on cheating—it was research, so it seemed fair enough to you. The man who handled the school food only made the most sense—he had to feed dozens of kids after all.

“...listen, sweetie,” the old man starts, bending down to look at you over the counter. “I usually just make what’s on the menu. Anything balanced and approved by the school.”

You write down  _ balanced.  _ Two more items ought to do it. “What else, sir?”

The man sighs, scratching his chin. He squints at his schedule and finally says, “Meat and rice?”

You perk up, quickly writing the two items down. He watches you, almost looking a bit amused now as you nod, holding your notebook close to your chest. “Thank you, sir. This helps a lot.”

“If you’re cooking don’t forget to put a little salt in the water when you soak the rice,” he says. “Helps give it flavor without seasoning.”

“Oh! Thank you—”

“(L/n)-chan?”

You turn your head, waving in silent greeting at Hime’s confused expression. Her hair is cute again today, two fluffy pigtails that compliment the nice dress she wears.  _ Maybe mama and I can get matching dresses when spring comes. _

Hime watches you, looking a bit wary at your sudden appearance. She’s holding a small cardboard box, eying you up and down. “...what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to ask mister for some advice,” you say, motioning to the cook. The old man waves in greeting at Hime and she politely bows to him before putting the box down on his counter, still looking at you. “Hime-san, are you here to get lunch?”

“No, I made my lunch today,” she says slowly. Hime frowns, like she can’t quite wrap her own head around you being here. “Advice?”

“About lunches,” you say. “It just made sense to me.”

Hime’s a little quieter than you expect when she’s on her own. You wonder if it’s because she’s just not as comfortable with you— _ maybe she doesn’t know what to talk about? I don’t really know either.  _ “Is Ran-san with you?”

“She’s obviously not,” Hime chirps, putting a hand on her hip. You mumble a small  _ ah, that’s right.  _ Hime doesn’t look impressed.

“Thanks for always helping,” the old man says. Hime nods again at him, bowing. You blink, turning to her with curiously round eyes.

“You help out in the lunchroom?”

“Sometimes,” she says. Hime’s eyes look at you, a bit critical for a moment. You feel a little like a bug under inspection, the way Atsumu does from time to time like he’s sizing you up for something.  _ They’re pretty similar, huh.  _ Whatever it is Hime’s looking for, she doesn’t seem to find it. “...my grandma works in the lunchroom so I come to see her.”

“Oh!” you smile. “That’s really nice of you.”

Hime keeps her back straight and her chin high, eyes sweeping over your shoulders to each corner of the hall before back to you. “...Atsumu-kun and Osamu-kun aren’t with you?”

“They’re back in the classroom,” you say amiably. “Want to walk back together?”

Hime gives you a funny look. You stand beside her, waiting for her reply.

“Ran-chan and I are going to eat in the courtyard,” Hime says. “But I guess we’re walking the same way.”

You nod, starting to walk down the hall. Hime looks at the back of your head, a big frown on her soft, rounded face before she matches your pace, walking beside you.

“(L/n)-chan, are you lookin’ for lunch recipes?” Hime asks. You look at her in surprise, startled she’d hit the nail on the head.  _ Wow, Hime-san is really observant.  _ “Don’t give me that look. You said you were asking for advice.”

“A-Ah, right,” you say, twiddling your fingers a bit. “I am!”

Hime observes her nails before saying, “Is it because of what we said about lunches?”

“It is!” you say. Hime side-eyes you. “I’m trying not to ask anyone for much help, though. I just wanted to learn how to make lunches on my own.”

There’s a light thrum of excitement under your skin, a little baffled by the fact that it’s just you and Hime talking. Normally the two of you are never alone, whether you’re flanked by the twins or Hime with Ran. Hime normally seems a lot more energetic when others are around...bubblier. You’re a little worried she doesn’t feel as comfortable with you.  _ I hope that changes. _

“...is it for Atsumu-kun?” Hime asks, a little quieter. “Or Osamu-kun?”

“Huh? Oh, no,” you say. “I might share. But it’s just for me.”

Hime eyes you before looking forward. She holds her head a little higher. Hime’s head is always high, not unlike how Atsumu holds his.  _ Is it because they’re similar? Or are they similar because they’re alphas? _

You pretend you’d never even had the later thought, shaking it out of your head. Hime waves to a few of your classmates. You bob your head in greeting when they notice you behind her and wave as well.

“Are yer parents close to the Miyas?”

You blink, looking at Hime. She doesn’t look at you, keeping her eyes forward. Her face appears nice, almost friendly. Her voice doesn’t quite match though, almost indifferent.

Hime is… different. 

(Is that a bad thing?)

“Oh, no,” you say. “Well, now we are. But we didn’t know each other before we moved here.”

“I see,” Hime says lightly. “My mom works with Mina-san, so I used to see them a lot.”

“Really?” you say, turning to her in surprise. “Is that how you know Atsumu-san and Osamu-san so well?”

Hime gives you a once over again, as though debating your words before she continues, “Yeah. They don’t invite me over as much though. Boys ‘re like that.”

“I know what you mean,” you mumble. Hime gives you a sharp look. “Madame Fortuna always says men only have two brains and one barely works.”

“Madame Fortuna?” Hime mutters, looking downright confused.

“What kind of lunches do you like, Hime-san?” you ask. Hime looks at you like you’re crazy. “Or, what do you like best in your lunches? I’m not really sure what to make.”

“...(L/n)-chan,” Hime says. Her tone makes you pause, looking at her. Hime considers you in silence, two young girls standing in the middle of the empty hall. The distant ruckus of young children floods the walls a little beyond the two of you. Your classroom is just a few steps away.

“You really can’t smell that well at all, can ya?”

You blink, once, twice. Hime’s face is unreadable. It… It reminds you a bit of your mother’s, from time to time, hard to understand. Maybe meant for you  _ not  _ to understand. The thought makes you feel a little lonely, too.

You sheepishly press your fingertips together in front of you, your notebook tucked under your arm. A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck. You’re not sure what Hime means by the question, but you feel like it’s important.

(She doesn’t know how hard you’re trying to smell, right now, at her words, only catching the faint wisp of something bitter.)

“Oh, well,” you say softly. “Yeah. I’m not… that great at it…”

Hime looks at you for a moment longer before she fixes one of her pigtails. Her eyes turn to the windows overlooking the courtyard to the side.

“Rolled omelettes.”

You look up, eyes round.

“I like rolled omelettes the best,” Hime says, airily. “I don’t think they’re hard to make either. I like mine saltier than sweet though.”

“O-Oh!” you say, shuffling for your notebook. “I’ll look up recipes and—”

“Hime-chan! There you are!” Hime’s entire expression shifts, bright and giddy and Ran appears by the window, waving eagerly to her. “I found a great spot—oh, (L/n)-chan.”

Ran’s eyes land on your form and she hesitates a second before she offers you a cheeky little smile, waving. You quickly wave back to her. “What were the two of you doing together?”

“Just chatting a bit,” Hime giggles, opening the door that leads to the outdoor yard. She doesn’t even spare you another glance. “Bye, (L/n)-chan! Good luck with yer lunch!”

“Ah, thank you,” you say, a little bewildered as you watch the two of them go, linking arms. Ran gives you a faint look over her shoulder before she quickly turns back to Hime, the two of them quickly flocked by other girls as they giggle, walking into the courtyard.  _ Ah, that looks nice. _

You stand in the hallway by the classroom, looking after the chattering group of students. Your finger thumbs the edge of your notebook. It gets a little quiet.

“What’s that dumb look on yer face for?”

The sound returns.

“...it’s not dumb,” you say, turning to the identical faces looking at you from the corner of the classroom door with a frown. “It’s my face.”

“Dumb,” Atsumu says. Osamu’s head peeks over his, the two of them perched around the doorway and eyeing you with matching, almost impassively unimpressed expressions. “What took ya so long?”

“There was a line,” you say, twiddling a bit with your fingers. “Sorry. Let’s go eat.”

Atsumu and Osamu share another look, the two of them staring at each other in silence for a moment before they pointedly look back at you. You blink, smiling pleasantly.

“Where’s yer bread then?”

Ah.

“Ah,” you say, looking down at your hands. They only hold your notebook and stare back at you. You consider you empty fingers for a moment before pressing them together and smiling sheepishly. “The line was long… so I didn’t get any?”

“If yer gonna lie, at least come up with the whole story first,” Osamu says.

“Stupid,” Atsumu says loudly, the two of them rounding the door to hound you in the hallway. You grimace, swaying on your feet like a little plant as they both cross their arms over their chests, scrutinizing you. “Whatcha lyin’ for, huh? Got a secret to keep from  _ us _ ?”

“Kinda,” you say. Atsumu looks miffed while Osamu looks more amused than anything. Osamu sniffs the air once, tilting his head at you. “But I’m not cheating! I’m not asking for help.”

“Cheating?” Atsumu says. Understanding dawns and his lips crook into a wide grin, leering over you. “Hah? You say you ain’t cheatin’? So this is about the lunch yer supposed to make! If you say it like that, then how’re we supposed to believe ya?”

“I promise,” you mutter, shyly swinging your hands around. “I wouldn’t lie about this. My pride is on the line too, you know.”

“ _ Hmmm, _ ” Atsumu drags the sound out, rubbing his chin in debate. You huff. “I guess we’ll let ya off the hook  _ this  _ time. But ya better play it fair or yer punishment’s gonna be  _ waaaaay  _ worse.”

“I said I won’t cheat,” you huff. Atsumu grins, dodging your little hand as it tries to lightly tap his stomach. “I should get a really good reward if it’s so good it knocks your socks off—”

“What were you and Manami talking about?”

You and Atsumu blink in surprise for a moment, turning owlishly over to Osamu. The other twin calmly observes you, hands in his pockets with his head tilted curiously to the side. Realization flickers across Atsumu’s face and he sniffs, looking at you with a disgruntled frown. 

“I ran into Hime-chan at the cafeteria,” you say amiably. “She was telling me what kind of lunch she liked. And about how she met you guys through her parents.”  _ And that you guys don’t hang out as much anymore, even though you seem to get along alright… _

You eye your school slippers.

(Would the same happen to the three of you?)

“What the heck would  _ you two  _ have to talk about?” Atsumu complains. You frown at him. Osamu seems to be mulling over your answer, looking elsewhere. “We already told ya she’s annoyin’ and you don’t need to hang out with her. She ain’t even any fun.”

“You two always seem fine,” you protest. Atsumu snorts, tossing his hands behind his head. “You do! That isn’t fair.”

Osamu shrugs a bit. “You just don’t have to force yourself to like anyone if ya don’t want too, (Y/n). That’s all.”

Osamu’s words aren’t wrong, you know that plenty fine. Your mother always tells you the same thing—there’s nothing wrong with wanting to try to get along with people, but she’d always emphasize that you never had to put up with anyone or anything if you didn’t want to.

_ “Just tell them what for.” _

“That’s only because it’d be annoyin’ to deal with her any other way,” Atsumu says without remorse. You gape at him. “All she ever talks about anyway is second—”

_ “Nip your problems at the bud!”  _ Madame Fortuna’s words echo loudly in your head, resounding and giving you strength. You imagine her fluffy furs and gaudy make-up, pumping yourself up the way she’d shout across the screen.  _ “Tend to your garden!” _

“I think I’d like to get along with Hime-chan,” you say suddenly, quick and concise. Atsumu stops, looking at you with an expression that clearly shows his distaste, brows furrowed and lips pulled down. Osamu doesn’t look quite content either, but he stays quiet, waiting for what comes next. “And Ran-chan, if  _ they  _ don’t mind. I get you two don’t like them that much—”  _ even though you act real chummy when you want to _ “—and I’m not going to force you guys to get along with them or anything.”

You hold your notebook tightly to your chest. You raise your head, evenly and stubbornly meeting both Atsumu and Osamu’s eyes. “And I care lots about what you two have to say and what you think—but I wanna choose my friends too.”

Atsumu makes a face but you continue anyway, “I can decide for myself too. And me being friends with other people doesn’t change the fact that… well…”

You dawdle a bit. Heat creeps up the back of your neck and you cough, clearing your throat. Atsumu and Osamu look at each other and you mumble, loud enough for them to hear, “...that you guys are still the best… and first for me… so it’s fine if other people come second or third…”

Atsumu suddenly looks constipated, torn between bristling a bit at your words and gloating at the praise you’d unexpectedly lathered onto his young and budding ego. He ruffles his hair, groaning a bit and Osamu stares at the floor, lips pressed together.

“...I want to try to get along with people,” you say, riding the wave of confidence you’ve somehow dug up. “Lots of ‘em. Nice people, if I can. But I want to be able to pick.”

You meet their eyes.

“Okay?”

“... _ ugh,  _ who cares anyway?” Atsumu snaps, crossing his arms over his chest and jerking his head sideways. “You just better not forget that  _ we’re  _ first.”

“I-I won’t!” you say quickly, a wide smile touching your lips as Atsumu starts to lead the charge back into the classroom. Osamu moves aside to let you in. “You guys are the best! I like our trio the most!”

“Oh, yeah? How come?”

“‘Cause you and Osamu-san are…”

Osamu waits by the doorway for a bit as you two walk ahead of him back to the desks. He stands there just on the corner of the hallway, staring down it for a little longer before he shrugs a bit to himself, turning around and following your back after his brother.

He closes the door behind him.

(Page 32)

“Hey, kid! How’re you doing?”

You freeze for a second in front of the kotatsu, quickly turning your eyes to the man now standing in the entryway to your mother’s room.

A small bag of groceries hangs from your fingers, almost hitting the floor. Different items and vegetables jut out from it, all bought in sets of three. Your mother helped you print out a different set of recipes last night after signing your permission slip, writing down small notes for you on the counter to remember when cooking and to call her if anything happened.

_ “A nature park?”  _ she thumbed the slip before ruffling the top of your head.  _ “Sounds like fun. Let me know all about it, okay?” _

You remember how excited you’d been when she mentioned getting you some new shoes—studier ones for running and jumping.  _ “Since you’re always playing outside with those troublemakers…” _

He’s not an unkind looking man. He looks like all the other adults in the streets, with a tie and dress shirt and a regular job just like anybody else. He offers you a bit of a smile, waving from the doorway as he walks further into the living room.

(Your home—)

You feel your lips move, but you’re not quite sure in what direction. There’s an adult in your living room.  _ An adult.  _ You instinctively bow your head a little bit in greeting, holding the bag with both your hands. He laughs and says something about your mother being in the shower as he walks past you, complimenting your groceries. He says a few other things, but it gets difficult to hear, even though you’re not sure why.

His words warble and warp in your ears and you can only stare at the top of the kotatsu table. He sets down a thick white envelope on top of the small table against the wall that holds an empty vase, waves to you and steps into your genkan.

_ But I didn’t see any _ —he opens up the small shoe closet, taking his big shoes out. You peek hesitantly over your shoulder, watching him slip them on before he leaves your home, locking the door behind him with an echoing  _ click. _

It’s only after the door  _ clicks  _ that you start to hear the shower coming from the bathroom. You stand there, swaying a bit on your feet as you stare at a random spot on the hardwood floor. The sound returns, like someone turning the volume back up. There’s a few light scratches that cross over each other and you continue to hold the grocery bag. Your knuckles are a little white.

You look at the white envelope.

It stares back at you in silence. The corner of it is creased in a way that makes it look like it's waving at you. The thought makes an awkward smile pull on your lips and you carefully maneuver yourself into the kitchen.

You put your backpack on the chair by the table, pulling out the printed recipes and setting all your ingredients down. You stand there for a little bit, staring at them in silence as you slowly pull a small step chair up to the counter.

Your small hands settle on top of the smooth table. Your mouth opens and then closes. You try to read the recipes but the words start to blur a little too.

You look behind you, back at that white envelope.

_ “Are there any little shops? Take this with you when you go and get something _ — _ ” _

You hurriedly rush back into the living room, flying to the television. You hit the power button, watching the screen wink to life. You turn to the familiar channel—Madame Fortuna’s broadcasts won’t be on till later tonight, but what plays instead are a series of variety shows. You let the loud laughter and colorful people flood the screen, filling your small home with noise.

You linger there a bit before skittering back to the kitchen. You quickly wash your hands, pulling out all your notes and recipes and smile, getting to work.

The sound of the television drones on, as if encouraging you.

(Page 33)

“What are we even learnin’ at a place like this?” Atsumu complains, loud enough for the entire gathered class to hear without any remorse whatsoever. “Couldn’t we just take a day off ourselves?”

It’s a chilly day. Not so cold that you can see your own breath, but enough that a pair of gloves would’ve been the smarter call on your eager rush out the door, flying past your mother with hurried, excited goodbyes before you smashed into Atsumu and Osamu waiting outside your door.

The nature reserve is at the base of one of the mountains not too far from campus. Here they take care and maintain the ecosystem in correspondence with the shrine at the top of the mountain. Your teacher believed it to be a good excursion to learn more about why shrines were located in areas like this during your history lesson.

Your class is gathered by your teacher. You and the twins are in a small little group on the edge of the larger one, but when Atsumu speaks, the other children tend to listen regardless. A few students near you laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world, some looked a bit miffed by his words.

“Miya!” your teacher lectures, shooting a sharp glare toward the three of you. “Don’t be rude!”

“It wasn’t me, sensei,” Osamu says, sounding a bit offended. “It was Atsumu.”

More students laugh. You feel bad but you can’t help but grin a bit too. Atsumu snickers and your teacher flushes, “I-I mean, Miya—Atsumu-kun! Don’t be rude!”

“Sensei, Osamu’s lyin! He said it.”

“Now, you two—”

You practically vibrate in place with excitement. A woven cream muffler is wrapped around your neck, your backpack strapped a little tighter today where it carries the contents of your hardwork in the kitchen. While your teacher tries to lecture Atsumu over the cackle of laughter, the assistant at the reserve explains to you all the rules and how you’ll have to go in groups of three or more. There would be a small paper assignment for you all to fill out as you went around the area, free to explore for the day until lunch.

“Ya cold?” Osamu says beside you, noticing how all your molecules are practically moving in unison. You shake your head, smiling brightly over the top of your muffler. He rolls his eyes but takes the handouts for the three of you, taking out his pencil from his matching backpack with Atsumu’s. “‘s basically a park.”

“But we might get to see something cool,” you say. “I’ve never seen a tanuki up close before! They always run off…”

“Boring!” Atsumu says beside you, finally free from his lecture. He throws his hands behind his head, looking up at the sky. “Let’s get this over with. Where do ya wanna go first?”

“Should we do the pond?” you say, unfolding the colorful map you were all given. Atsumu and Osamu squish their cheeks against yours to get a good look. “We can fill out the most stuff there…”

“(L/n)-chan! Do you need more people in yer group?”

Atsumu and Osamu’s eyes both look up a second before you do, expressions blank. You blink at Hime and Ran, smiling back at you. A few girls stand behind them, twiddling with their fingers. Hime’s smile is easy, with her hair pulled into two cute braids and a pair of gloves that match her pink parka.  _ Very cute.  _ Ran and her match.

“We were thinking of going to the meadow first,” Hime says conversationally, looking over at Atsumu. “Eh~ Miya-chan, you didn’t get scolded some more by sensei?”

“Course not,” Atsumu says. “I’m an angel.”

The girls giggle. You and Osamu look at him in outright disgust. Ran steps forward a bit.

“We can finish the handouts together,” she says, glancing Osamu’s way before continuing, “let’s group up together and—”

“Why should we?” Atsumu says loudly. Ran flinches. “Three’s enough, right? Sensei said it was fine.”

“She’s just saying that for fun!” Hime says, standing beerfully beside Ran, who looks relieved. “The more the merrier—”

“Ah, it’s okay,” you say amiably. They all look at you, holding your map in thought. “We were gonna head to the pond first. Three’s a good number too, so you guys can go ahead and see the meadow!”

You think about your backpack, “Maybe we can all meet up for lunch?”

“O-Oh,” Ran says. “But sensei said three only had to be the—”

“Three, real nice and lucky,” you mumble, rubbing your chin. “The pond is the third spot on the map too…”

Without missing a beat, you turn around and start trekking the path, eagerly hurrying to your destination. “If we finish there… we might be able to see some shika deer by the forest trail and…”

Atsumu guffaws behind you, clutching his stomach before he dismisses the girls with a wave and runs off after you, clipping your shoulder for fun. Osamu nods to Ran and Hime, eyes lingering on Ran for a second before he jogs after the two of you, clipping Atsumu and causing a chain reaction that smacks back into you again.

Hime watches your backs, frowning for a second before she flips a braid over her shoulder, tugging Ran’s sleeve. Her friend bites her lip, staring at the ground with teary eyes as she shoots the three of you a final look and huffs.

“Since when does she speak for all of them?”

“The three of them always seem so close…”

“No way, don’t you think they got closer after we all talked?”

“Hmm? About what?”

“The Miyas probably being alphas…”

“Oh, is it because of  _ that  _ then?”

(Page 34)

“Wow, they’re pretty lazy like this,” Atsumu says, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks unimpressed, squinting at the glass. “You could pass off for one of ‘em, Osamu.”

“Must be nice,” Osamu says, looking mildly envious. “Three meals a day. No homework or chores, just sleep and do whatever you want.”

“Wow,” you say animatedly. “Real foxes!”

The three of you all turn your heads sideways, following the two foxes that dip in and out of their den. The glass is a small habituary that keeps these foxes because they’re unable to return to the wild. They’ve got reddish, orange coats and bright, white tipped tails. Their color is redder than your fox plush at home, but it’s still nice.

One flops to the ground with a huff, kicking out its feet. The other beside it comes over, nibbling on its ear and batting at its side.

“‘s like Atsumu,” Osamu says. “Annoying.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, that fat one’s gotta be  _ you,  _ Osamu.”

“Yeah? Look at how dumb that one looks—”

The small building the three of you are in is surrounded by small plaques and fake pictures of the forest and grass. The rest of the space makes up the fox habitat. It’s one of the small walk-in buildings on the reserve, close to the last stop. There’s even a little gift shop right off to the side that you’ve been side-eyeing, thinking of the change your mother put into your backpack before you left.

_ “Tell me at least three interesting facts when you get home, okay?” _

The two foxes quibble with each other, snapping at their heels and jumping around with new energy. You stare at the animals and look back at the twins still fighting each other with tugs and shoves.

“They’re brothers!” you say, pointing at the information board on the foxes. “How nice. It really is like the two of you.”

“You callin’ us animals?” Atsumu says, rounding on you. Osamu hangs off his shoulder, one fist in his parka. The twins are matching again, sleek black parkas and dark maroon mufflers. “Then yer one too!” 

“Too bad there’s only two,” you mumble, trying to peer closer into the glass to see if there’s any other ones hiding. “Three would be better, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s just what you think,” Atsumu says. He and Osamu still press their foreheads to the glass like you do, squinting in search of another. “The plaque doesn’t say—”

“There it is,” Osamu says. “Right there, hidin’ in the bushes.”

You quickly try to follow his finger. Atsumu whips around and smashes his face into the glass as well, trying to find what his brother already had. It takes the two of you a few more minutes with Osamu silently pointing and Atsumu loudly saying he thought he saw it before it turned out to be nothing, before you  _ actually  _ see it.

A third fox sits curled up in the bushes. It’s coat matches the other two. It sniffs a pile of leaves, rolling around and making itself comfortable as it watches the other two frolic about before it yawns and tucks itself into a ball.

It yips once. The other two turn in the middle of their squabble and bound over. The three of them move around each other before they all settle, tucking down and making it impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

“Looks like they’ve got a sister,” Osamu says, reading the lone plaque on the other side of the wall. “There you go, (Y/n).”

Osamu and Atsumu make faces. Your own face is plastered flat against the glass, eyes sparkling at the prospect of there being three instead of two foxes—a small little part of your day feels utterly and wholly complete now.

“Jeez, they’re just a couple of animals,” Atsumu says, downright distrubed with your fanciful behavior. He starts to tug on the back of your jacket. “C’mon, let’s go see the next one.”

“Looks like they’re endangered,” Osamu says, rereading the plaque beside it with more care. You turn to him. “They’re gonna wait till they reach… maturity and then send ‘em off to different places where they got other ones.”

“They’re gonna split them up?” you say, offended. Osamu nods, pointing to the detalized repopulation plan. “T-That’s… they can’t do that! That’s mean!”

“Well, if they don’t they’ll lose another three of ‘em,” Osamu says, tapping the numbers with one knuckle. He looks over at you. “Can’t stay like this forever, I guess.”

“How much time do they have?” you question fearfully. Osamu searches the plate.

“Couple more years,” he says. “Guess that ain’t too bad.”

“Yeesh,” Atsumu says, grimacing. “Is that really all they got goin’ for them?”

“But still…” you mumble, rubbing the edge of your jacket between your fingers. You look at the slumbering pile of fur, unable to tell them apart. “Just seems kind of sad…”

“They don’t even know,” Atsumu says with a scoff. “Better take it back, Osamu. Sucks to be one of them.”

The three of you stare at the glass, watching the foxes as they roll over each other in silence. Nature isn’t particularly biased toward being kind or cruel, you know that, but the thought still just…  _ bothers  _ you somehow. It’s for their greater good, at the end of the day. Maybe these foxes wouldn’t even know the difference. Did they get sad when they had to leave their families? Did it bother them at all? They’ll all be doing their duty toward their species to repopulate, doing what they’re supposed to do.

(What they’re supposed to do.)

You peel your cold hand away from the glass, holding it at your side.

“Maybe they’ll put ‘em in the same sanctuary or somethin’,” Atsumu says, folding his hands behind his head. “They can all be neighbors. I dunno if that’s how it works for foxes though. I ain’t no expert.”

“Good thing we ain’t animals,” Osamu says.

You can’t help but agree.

“Let’s go to the gift shop,” you propose, turning away from the glass and pointing to the small little shop. Atsumu eagerly turns at the offer, grinning. “I want to see if there’s anything nice to bring back for mama.”

“Let’s go then!” Atsumu says, herding you forward. You laugh, matching his pace toward the gift shop. “Doubt there’s gonna be anything cool from a  _ nature  _ park. C’mon, Osamu!”

Osamu waits beside the glass for a second longer. His small frame is shadowed, looking even smaller. He stares at the glass, reflection barely peeking back in the dull lighting of the small building.

“Osamu, ya loser, let’s go!” Atsumu calls for his brother.

Osamu turns away from the glass without another word, following after the three of you into the gift shop. Right on the edge of the entrance he trips his brother.

“Who ya callin’ a loser, loser?”

“If ya wanna fight—”

“Excuse me, children, please be respectful inside the store.”

“Oh, I’m sorry ma’am. We’ll be good.”

“Don’t apologize for us, (Y/n)!”

(Page 35)

It was finally the moment of truth.

“I did some research,” you say proudly, placing one hand over the lid of your bento. “Looked into some recipes and decided to go with a basic kind of design, so don’t call it boring!”

Atsumu and Osamu both share looks, sitting beside each other. Simple, character design bentos beaten around the edges from familiar use or mistreatment sat in front of both brothers. The three of you were seated on a blanket you’d picked from the pile the teacher had brought along. The rest of your class was scattered in similar groups all around you for lunch, loud chatter and excited laughter filling the air.

Your smile is wide, overtly eager as you shift on top of your folded knees. The twins lean back, making similar gestures with their hands for you to continue even though Atsumu had been the one to originally complain that they should open their lunches first.

You promptly lifted the lid of your bento.

“Tadah!”

It really is a simple thing. Atsumu and Osamu knock their heads together in the process of looking. Three sets of octopus-cut sausages are tucked into one corner. Three sets of fluffy, rather properly rolled omelettes are tucked right beside them—done just like their mother’s, if they had be honest—beside that stand mounds of rice, three of them, shapely and strange and wrapped completely in—

Atsumu bursts out into laughter, holding his gut. Osamu blinks, craning his head and trying to wrap his vision around the sight before him. You continue to stare at them, smiling continuously.

“Are those… rice balls?” Osamu says finally.

“Yes!” you say, showing them off to them. “I made one for each of us. I couldn’t get the shape right, so I just wrapped it in extra seaweed.”

“You completely covered ‘em!” Atsumu guffaws, sitting back up and pointing to your lunch box. “Look at ‘em! They’re like mud balls!”

Instantly your cheeks inflate with a pout. You hold your box, looking down at the rice balls and then back to Atsumu.

“I like them like this!”

“Don’t lie!”

“Everything else is fine…” Osamu mutters, looking mystified. He picks one of the rice balls up, moving it around in his hand. “I didn’t know they could look like this…”

“Stop making fun of me!”

“Well, this is  _ our  _ lunch,” Atsumu says proudly, eagerly lifting the lids up. Beds of fried chicken and salads and rice instantly show themselves in all their glory. Your mouth waters at the sight, quickly turning to Osamu’s with a set of fried noodles and more side dishes in his own. Atsumu unscrews a thermos and the smell of miso soup fills the air. “I think it’s safe to say  _ we  _ won, right?”

“Mama made plenty for you,” Osamu adds, peeling bits of your seaweed away and reshaping your rice ball. You pout at him but he simply motions for you to watch, guiding your hands to one of your other atrocities. “We’re eatin’ like kings today.”

“If these are even edible,” Atsumu says, taking the last rice ball and reshaping it as well. You stick your tongue out at him and he grins, looking lively. “You need some help!”

“The shape is just harder than it looks,” you say in defense of your first-time rice balls. Osamu’s nimble and quick, fixing his in record time before he promptly gets set on eating it, not wasting another second.

“Taste is good,” Osamu reports. “Just funny lookin’.”

“I-I get it!”

“Since we won,” Atsumu adds quickly, fishing around in his bag with a stupidly cocky grin. Osamu reshapes the rest of the rice balls with almost practiced ease. “You gotta come to this with us for your penalty!”

You blink at the simple but bright poster now brandished in front of your face. The lettering takes a moment for you to understand, looking to the corners with bright pictures of children on a volleyball court and then a series of times and dates.

“...a volleyball clinic?” you say.

“‘s gonna be taught by some guy who played for the big leagues!” Atsumu says eagerly, flapping the paper. “A whole bunch of meetings and if we like it, we can join their league!”

“Just a kid’s league for now,” Osamu says. “But still sounds fun, right? Get to play volleyball on a proper court and everythin’.”

It’s hardly a penalty at all, more of a roundabout excuse to get you to come along with their whims. The only problem though is that there’s hardly a problem at all. The thought of a  _ free  _ clinic is wonderfully enticing, and to be honest, there’s nothing wrong with it at all. It almost seems too good to be true. Playing more volleyball with the twins? Meeting more people?

“It’s free?” you ask, taking the poster with shiny eyes, quickly skimming around for any numbers.

“Looks like there’s only a small fee for materials later if we join their team,” Osamu says, pointing to the corner of the flyer. “‘s it though.”

“I’ll go!” you cheer, thrusting the paper into the air. Atsumu grins, chest puffing out with pride and Osamu huffs in satisfaction, digging into their lunch. “I can’t wait!”

“Of course ya can’t! Since when have we ever introduced ya to anything lame?”

Regardless, even if your rice balls were a bit subpar—everything else turned out much better than you ever expected for your first time. Atsumu wolfs down his portion of your rolled omelettes, shoving his chicken into your lap in between. Osamu licks his fingers clean, polishing off the rice ball and greedily considering eating his brother’s as well. You can’t help but beam with pride, cheeks flushed and content as you shovel food into your mouth and let your smile overtake your lips.

(You’re all having a very, very good time.)

(Page 36)

_ The clinic is a couple days of the week and on weekends too.  _ You hum to yourself, washing your hands in the restroom sink as you run the new information through your head and how to present it to your mother.  _ Only a bus stop away from our neighborhood… the weekday ones go a little late into the evening, but it should be okay with Osamu-san and Atsumu-san…  _

The water pours over your hands, crystal clear as soap suds swirl down the drain. You stare a bit at the tiny whirlpools, looking at your small hands before your eyes drift up to your reflection in the foggy mirror. It’s a small restroom facility on the park grounds beside the lunch area, so there’s a bit of grime on the glass.

_ Mama might even like that I’ve got somethin’ else to keep me busy.  _ Your smile stretches a little more over your face, overcoming the hesitancy.  _ Keep me outta the house… _

You’re coming to like volleyball more and more, enough to be swayed with Atsumu and Osamu’s talk of joining the school team once the three of you enter middle school. You grin, unable to contain the stupid giddiness that comes with this kind of excitment.

You quickly dry your hands on your pocket hand towel, turning the sink off.

_ Click. _

You pause, looking up at the restroom door. You tilt your head to the side with a frown, approaching the heavy door. Your fingers press against the flat surface that’s supposed to push the door open.

It doesn’t.

You try again, leaning more of your weight on the door. It doesn’t budge. You frown in confusion, trying to push on the door that’s supposed to be swinging wide open now at your exit. This continues for a few more seconds before you push now with both your hands, trying to shove the door to see if it got stuck.

It doesn’t open.

The restroom lights are set on a timer when someone enters. They flicker, remaining on only due to your restless movement. You take a step back from the door, trying to peer at the crack at the bottom, wedging your fingers underneath and trying again to give it a little tug.

Nothing.

You’re the only one in here.

Are you… stuck?

You take a few steps back from the door, staring at it in silence. You lift your foot and strike out, giving it a resounding  _ kick  _ that smacks across the linoleum walls.

The door rattles but doesn’t open.

_ Did it lock from the outside?  _ You stare at the flat surface of the door where there remains no knob or latch for you to try and open it up.  _ Did it get stuck? It must’ve got stuck.  _ There’s no other way to explain the random misfortune.

“Hello?” you shout loudly. “Hello?”

You start to pound your fist on the door, keeping it consistent with your shouts.. The door rattles each time under your small  _ knocks  _ but doesn’t budge. This goes on for a few more minutes before the light flickers again behind you and then darkness envelops the bathroom.

Someone should come by. Someone would probably need to use the restroom too. It’d be fine. Worst scenario possible, the teacher would do a headcount and have to go looking for you when everyone got ready to leave once lunch was over. Maybe even Atsumu and Osamu would come snooping around, wondering where you were. Lunch still had some time.

Eventually you’d be found.

_ “Don’t ever take anything lying down.” _

_ “Leave her out of this!” _

You wait a few moments in the darkness, counting to three in your head and then doing it again. You take a step back and lash out at the door, expression calm as you grunt from the force. Again your foot collides against the door. Again. Again. Again. Again.

Someone would come eventually.

You throw yourself against the door, slamming all your weight into your shoulder. You do it again. And again. And again.

Eventually.

You feel around in the darkness until you hit the back wall. You take a running start and throw your entire little body against the door, hearing it rattle and groan but it still doesn’t open.

You step back to do it again. Maybe a third time. You’d do it in sets of three.

_ “Don’t ever take anything lying down.” _

(Page 37)

“ _ You put her where? You’re crazy! You’re fucking insane! Let her out! Let her out! Let her out, you son of a bitch!” _

_ “Shut up you _ — _ ” _

_ “Where the fuck is my daughter?” _

(Page 38)

“Is she takin’ a dump or somethin’?” Atsumu complains, laying flat on his back, head tilted to survey the lunch area for your sudden appearance from the restroom. His brother sits beside him, legs criss crossed as he continues to chew thoughtfully around another mouthful of chicken. “Takin’ forever!”

“Maybe,” Osamu says. “Girls are weird about that anyway.”

They both turn their heads in the direction of the restrooms. When you don’t appear within the next few seconds they turn back to their positions, one complaining while the other eats, occasionally looking over at your nearly finished bento and the untouched pudding cup you haven’t eaten yet they’d brought for you.

“Miya-chan! Miya-kun! How was yer path?”

Osamu swallows, looking up at the small group now gathered by their blanket. Atsumu half sits up, propping himself on his arms and lazily looking up beside his brother.

Ran smiles cheerfully down at them, holding a small lunch bag. Hime stands with a faint smile beside her and two other girls, all of them looking chipper and eager. “The park was kinda boring, huh? The worksheets were a pain!”

“Tell me about it,” Atsumu agrees, hanging his head back. He glances to the restroom again as the girls laugh, getting comfortable around them. “Did you guys finish?”

“We did,” Hime says, sitting down beside Atsumu. Ran shyly takes a seat beside Osamu, smiling at him. Osamu merely nods back at her, picking at his food. “Don’t tell me you need help with yours?”

“Nah,” Atsumu drags out cockily. “(Y/n) made sure ours got done.”

“Where _ is _ (L/n)-chan?” Hime asks, turning around on the blanket after spotting your things.

“Restroom,” Osamu and Atsumu chorus. They look back at it again.

“I thought I saw her talkin’ to someone else by the hill,” Ran says in surprise, looking over her shoulder. Atsumu narrows his eyes. “She was chattin’ with them, right?”

“I think so,” another girl says, turning to where Ran was looking. “That was her sitting with them, right?”

“Right?” the other girl says, clapping her hands. “I thought so too.”

Hime eyes your empty bento box save for a few rolled omelettes. Her hands settle into her lap and she fixes her hair, glancing over to Atsumu. The other twin boredly examines his fingernails as the girls continue to chatter, growing more animated as they gather around. A few other classmates start to trickle over.

“Miya-kun,” Ran says, opening up her lunch bag. “Did you eat yet? My mom makes really good rice balls! You can have one if you’d like.”

“Sure,” Osamu says. Ran’s eyes brighten in surprise, her entire face lighting up as she quickly fishes it out and brandishes the perfect looking triangle to him. 

“Yer  _ still  _ hungry?” Atsumu says loudly, turning again over his shoulder.

Osamu takes it with a grateful nod, staring at the rice ball for a bit before he unwraps the plastic and takes a bite. Ran watches eagerly, twiddling with her fingers as he eats it in silence, finishing it off in a series of mouthfuls and wide chews.

“Miya-kun you ate that too fast!”

“Was it that good?”

“Haha, you’re making Ran-chan blush!”

“Cause she actually made them herself,” Hime giggles. Ran flushes a brighter red. Atsumu rolls his eyes and Osamu licks his fingers clean. “Ran-chan’s just too shy to talk about how good of a cook she is.”

“I-I can only do a little bit! Miya-kun just likes to eat—”

“We’re gonna go look for (Y/n),” Osamu says simply, standing up. The gathered girls look startled, Ran looks up sharply from her little dreamy stupor. Atsumu grins, quickly standing up with his brother and stretching his hands over his head. “She’s been gone awhile.”

“She was just talkin’ to someone over there,” one girl says quickly, pointing a ways away. “She’ll come back when she’s done, right?”

“Yeah,” another girl says. “Ya don’t have to ruin her fun—”

“She outta tell us first then,” Atsumu says loudly. Ran grimaces. Hime looks up at them in silence, eyelashes fluttering. “Cause we were waitin’ for her and that’s rude.”

“Girls don’t like it when guys are too pushy,” Hime says idly. Atsumu snorts. “Ya might make (L/n)-chan mad.”

“She can throw a fit then if she wants,” Atsumu says, bored as he and Osamu start walking away from their spot without a second glance back. “Bye~”

Atsumu ducks his head close to his brother’s when Osamu turns his head toward him. The two make their way to the girls’ restroom, completely ignoring the girls’ words about your whereabouts with some other classmates.

“Too salty,” Osamu says. “(Y/n)’s was ugly, but way better.”

“Hah! I knew it.”

A few of the girls look at each other, a bit surprised before they rub a pouting Ran’s back, murmuring encouraging words to her. Hime pats her friend’s back as well, glancing over her shoulder before she looks back, smiling warmly at Ran.

“They’re pretty close after all.”

“Yeah! Maybe they just wanna talk to some other people.”

“Miya-kun really liked your rice ball, Ran-chan!”

“I don’t get what’s so good about her,” Ran mutters. “What makes her so different from the rest of us?”

(Nothing at the end of the day, right?)

(Page 39)

_ “If he ever tries that again, baby, just _ — _ ” _

You slam your foot against the door again. You’re not really sure how long it’s been now, but it had to be over ten minutes, you’d counted to three and back far too many times in the dark. Once or twice the light came back on when you jumped high enough and moved your hands, only to switch off and envelope you in darkness.

You huff.  _ I’m tired.  _ Sweat dribbles down your brow and the back of your neck. At some point you’d shed your parka because it’d gotten too stuffy to throw yourself at the door. Your knees ache and your feet hurt from kicking the door so much. Your shoulder hurts too, but you can’t see if you’ve bruised or not.

_ Someone will come eventually.  _ You tap your foot once against the door, panting as you lean your forehead against the cool surface.  _ Soon. It’s okay. _

(It’d be okay. This isn’t so bad. There’s been worse, right?)

In a fit of quiet frustration and stubbornness, you toss your entire weight against the door, letting out a small, fierceful shout.

The door swings open, blinding you with the pale winter daylight.

You yelp in surprise, tumbling forward and rolling over yourself as you crash onto the ground. You blink rapidly, dazed for a second against the ground before you hurriedly scramble to your knees and hands, looking up.

For a moment you wonder if you’re seeing double before you realize you  _ are  _ seeing double. Your eyes widen, brightening in surprise as your mouth falls open, falling back onto your butt.

“Atsumu-san! Osamu-san!” you cheer. “Ya found me!”

The twins don’t say anything for a second. The two of them stand in front of you, shoulder to shoulder and looking down. Their eyes sweep over your disheveled, sweaty form, looking over your head and into the now lit restroom where your jacket lays discarded on the floor.

“Duh,” Atsumu says. “Ya told us where you were going. You just took too long.”

“Have you been in there the whole time?” Osamu asks absently, looking into the girl’s restroom and back at you.

“Jeez,” you say in bewilderment, brushing dust off your knees and shaking your head. “That was crazy! Maybe a ghost? The door got jammed and I couldn’t get out. I tried shouting and banging but I don’t think anyone heard, so I kept kicking…”

“Stuck, huh?” Atsumu says. He looks at his brother and Osamu matches his silent, unreadable gaze. They look almost mischievous. You blink at them, pulling your hair back into a small ponytail to get it out of your face so you could breathe better. “Were ya scared?”

“Not really,” you say, finally standing up. Your knees wobble a bit and the twins watch you, shaking yourself off and trying to get your balance back before you waddle back to get your jacket and quickly jump back outside right beside them. “Was a pain though. Just not a fun time. Sorry I took so long. Let’s go back…”

You trail off, finally looking at the object situated in Osamu’s hands. You stare at it in wonder, unable to really figure out why he’s got a hefty looking wooden plank situated between his fingers. Your brows crease a bit, looking up from the wood back at Osamu. There’s gears turning in the back of your head, very, very quiet, and they don’t speak out. Your lips turn up into an awkward sort of smile.

Atsumu’s lips start to turn up into a slow, smug sort of smile. Not the kind that gloats—a kind of mean smile you don’t really like on his face. Osamu wordlessly meets your eyes for a bit, looking back at his brother before he silently moves to the restroom door. Osamu tugs it shut.

Osamu places the wooden board right up against the door, wedging it at a certain angle. He glances back at you and gives the door a slight tug, showing the jammed stiffness of it thanks to the board.

Your gears get a little louder. Your smile is a little more pressed. Your brows furrow, fingers nervously rub against each other.

“Found it like this,” Osamu says simply, because he knows there isn’t much more he should need to say, by the calm way his gaze meets your sheepish, awkward expression. He kicks the board to the side, sliding his hands into his parka pockets.

“Did anyone come to the restroom with ya, (Y/n)?” Osamu asks. “Smell anyone or see anyone?”

“...no,” you murmur, rubbing the back of your neck. “Nothing… like that… haha… guess it was just a bit of… a joke…”

Atsumu scoffs. He sniffs the air, eyeing the area the three of you are in before his lips curl up into a smug smirk. His baby canines peek through and his eyes narrow, lips pulled back as Atsumu leans his shoulder against his brother’s, looking back to where the two of them had come from.

“Man,” Atsumu complains loudly. “It  _ reeks _ .”

(Page 40)

“Hey!” your mother brightens when she sees you sitting in the middle of the living room, quietly cutting a plate of apples for the two of you. “I didn’t hear you come home! How was the field trip?”

“Hi, mama!” you greet back cheerfully, shuffling beside the table. Your mother plops down beside you, smelling of soap and shampoo. She nuzzles the top of your head and you grin, tucking under her chin before she pulls away and takes an apple slice. “It was really fun! I saw lots of stuff! And look!”

You quickly tug your backpack from the corner, turning it around to show your mother. On it sits a bright, dark red fox plush keychain, hanging from the corner of your backpack. Your mother makes a small noise of amused awe, waiting for you to continue.

“Atsumu-san and Osamu-san and I all got matching ones,” you say eagerly, patting it over and over again. “Isn’t it cute? They had three of ‘em! Perfect number.”

“That’s great honey! They’re real cute,” your mother tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and frowns, noticing the little welt on the side of your head. “Did you fall or hit your head?”

“Mhm, banged it a bit on the bus cause I fell asleep,” you say lightly. Your mother laughs, ruffling the top of your head.

“Did you get into any trouble?” she asks teasingly. 

You consider her question for a moment. You think of the damp smell of the restroom, musky and moldy with its flickering lights. You think more warmly of the lunch box. Of the sweet taste of pudding after Atsumu and Osamu told you to wait by a tree and they brought all your things and theirs over, claiming they wanted to move to a new spot.

“Nope!” you say happily. ‘Cause your shoulder doesn’t really ache anymore and your ankles are just a little sore. “Atsumu-san and Osamu-san made a ruckus in the gift shop though.”

“Haha, I bet. Tell me your three facts!”

You grin brightly back up at her.

(Page 41)

“So?” Atsumu says, hands behind his head as the three of you walk home from the bus stop from school. “Whatcha wanna do about it?”

Osamu holds the straps of his backpack. The winter air is a little chilly, but it doesn’t bite back too hard. It feels good on your cheeks. They walk on either side of you, trudging along in pleasant silence.

“We can just tell if ya want,” Osamu adds. “Don’t gotta do anythin’.”

“They’ll just get off with a slap to the wrist,” Atsumu snorts. “Or they’ll cry and sob and sensei won’t do a thing but scold ‘em.”

“Nothing.”

Osamu and Atsumu both look at you. Their expressions are blank, waiting.

You watch your feet, placing one foot in front of the other. Your newly claimed prize, a fox plush the three of you bought for each other, now hangs proudly from your backpack. You’ve bought a few pretty photos of flowers for your mom as well.

“Nothing,” you say again. “I don’t really want to do anything about it.”

Osamu stays silent. Atsumu scoffs, clearly already having expected your answer. He turns his head to the side, shoving his hands into his pockets instead.

“Yer gonna be a doormat like that,” Atsumu says.

“Not really,” you say, a bit quiet, just content. You think about your mother’s words, letting them play on repeat in your head. “‘s just nothing to worry about.”

(Page 42)

Ojiro Aran’s always been a pretty simple kid.

Simple in the sense that he doesn’t really cause trouble for anyone else —not for his parents, not for his friends, and  _ definitely  _ not for himself. He’s a simple boy with simple needs; he likes playing volleyball, he likes having a full stomach, playing some video games—he likes bein’ content.

It’s probably that spring of his fifth grade though, at that simple, nice volleyball clinic he’s been dying to go to and losing sleep over the past couple of nights—that things become a little less simple for him.

And it starts, of course, with his first meeting with the three of you.

“Woah! Check out that guy! He’s huge!”

“I hear his name’s Aran or somethin’... yeah, Aran-kun! He’s only a fifth grader.”

“He’s so cool…”

Aran’s used to this kind of talk too. He’s definitely on the taller side for his age, and he’s got a pretty big build too, the kind that either makes kids a little scared of him or think he’s someone they wanna be friends with.  _ “You’ve gotta be an alpha, Aran!”  _ The other kids at the junior clinic already part around him, making way or looking up at him with wide eyes.

His ear perks a bit at the words.  _ Cool.  _ It’s not, you know, a bad thing to hear about yourself. Aran fixes his track jacket, fiddling with the zipper a bit before he risks a peek over his shoulder to see who’s talking about him. They almost sound identical. 

“His name’s, like,” Aran blinks, wondering if he’s seeing double before he realizes,  _ no _ , he’s not seeing double. The two boys standing a little ways from him, talking loud enough not to be ashamed even though he’s kind of, you know,  _ right there _ , have gotta be twins or something, because they’re exact carbon copies of each other, wide eyes and raised brows, looking at him in awe. “Foreign or somethin’!”

_ That’s all you think is cool about me?  _ Aran doesn’t really feel snubbed or disappointed, that’d be weird, anyway. He just decides these twins really seem like they’re a cut different from the rest, and it might not be a good thing.

Atsumu turns to his brother—the two of them sport matching, sleek white track jackets with the  _ ICS  _ logo on the back. Their inner sweaters alternate, with Atsumu in white and Osamu in black since they’ve got their names printed as a gift from their mom so the teacher’s can tell them apart. “Maybe I should go and get a name change…”

_ Really?  _ Aran thinks.  _ You’d go that far? Isn’t that kind of extreme? _

“If ya go off and change yer name like that, you’ll make granny real sad,” Osamu says mindfully. Atsumu clicks his tongue nodding in understanding.

“True that…”

_ Morons…  _ Aran shakes his head, adjusting his jacket.

“I got it!” Atsumu jolts, as though struck by an epiphany. “‘Samu! Like… Samu… in Osamu!”

Osamu looks at his brother, eyes round, “Then I guess…. Tsumu… for Atsumu!”

_ No, no, that just sounds plain weird.  _ Aran thinks, shaking his head.

“Hell yeah! That sounds so friggin’ cool!”

“ _ Can you give it a rest already?”  _ Aran shouts before he can help himself, turning on the strange twins. Atsumu and Osamu jolt, looking surprised he’d even noticed them at all. Aran quickly fixes his jacket, pretending he didn’t hear anything. Yeah, he might need to steer clear of those weirdos. He scans the heads of the other kids, not really recognizing anyone he knows from the area either. Well, once the ball started rolling, he’d probably find  _ someone  _ to get along with—

A soft weight collides into his chest. Aran jumps, looking down and blinking in surprise at the head of hair meeting his gaze. He quickly steps back the same moment you look up in equal surprise, touching the top of your head.

“My bad—”

“Oh, I’m sorry—”

Both you and Aran cut off from interrupting each other. Aran awkwardly offers a hand, “U-Uh, sorry about that. I didn’t see you.”

“Oh, no, it’s my fault,” you say, bending down to reach for your shoes. Aran pales, realizing you didn’t notice his outstretched and he awkwardly stuffs it into his pocket, sweating a bit and hoping no one noticed. “I just realized my shoes are untied… sorry about that.”

A bark of shared laughter pipes up from behind him. Aran starts to sweat when he realizes the weird twins saw everything, holding their stomachs as they cackle like hyenas.

“‘s fine,” Aran says easily, trying to wave the earlier awkwardness away. You’re a pretty normal looking girl, with your hair pulled back into a ponytail and a pale, faded yellow t-shirt on. You’ve got big eyes though, round and wide, and they kinda make Aran feel like you’re lookin’ right through him.  _ Am I just bein’ crazy? _

“Are you here for the clinic too?” you say pleasantly, not just double knotting your laces—triple knotting them. Aran’s never seen anyone do that before, let alone  _ knew  _ anyone could do that many knots. You don’t have an accent, making him realize you must’ve come from out of town. “Oh, wait, that might be a silly question since you’re here.”

“Y-Yeah,” he says. You smile and Aran relaxes a little bit. Okay, this is more normal. “I mean, not that it’s a dumb question. Just that… yeah, ‘m here too.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” you say, kindly sticking your hand out. Aran quickly takes it, shaking your hand. “I’m (L/n) (Y/n).”

“Ojiro,” he says. “Ojiro Aran. Nice to meet you too. Did you move here?”

“I did!” you say, pressing your fingertips together. Your eyes drift back to his hands though and you make a funny face. “Say, Ojiro-san, can I see your palm again?”

“My palm?” Aran blinks, turning his hand over. You shuffle a bit closer, poking at a line on his hand. “Uh…”

“Wow, you’ve got a great life-line,” you say cheerfully, looking up at him and giving him a thumbs up. Aran stares at you. “Nice and long! Congratulations! Madame Fortuna says people with nice, big arcs like that are gonna live long and healthy lives.”

Aran stares at you, a little bewildered. “Thanks?”

“I hope we get to play together,” you say, offering him a cheerful grin. You step past Aran, leaving him blinking, a little confused and slightly… thankful?  _ I guess?  _ He shakes his head. Well, at least you’re not as weird as—

“(Y/n) get this, we just came up with new names. Yer gonna call us that from now on.”

“Oh, okay. Like nicknames?”

“Yeah, but they’re our  _ official  _ names now cause they sound cool as hell, right ‘Samu?”

“Right, Tsumu.”

Aran rigidly turns over his shoulder like a broken robot, mouth opening in disbelief at the congregation assembled behind him. Atsumu and Osamu pumps their fists, chests puffed out and chins raised high as they again repeat their names, “From now on, he’s Tsumu and I’m Samu.”

“Crazy cool, right? Too sick!”

“What do ya think?”

_ They’re ridiculous!  _ Aran thinks.  _ Ridiculous! You can’t just tell people that and not feel embarrassed. _

“Okay,” you say pleasantly. “Tsumu-san and Samu-san, I can work with that.”

“Don’t add  _ san  _ to it, that just ruins it!” Atsumu complains.

“But then it becomes three syllables instead of two.”

“Ya want us to come up with one for ya too?” Osamu offers.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you though.”

Ojiro Aran, blank faced, quietly etched in stone, realizes that day that you’re just as weird as the other two. 

Maybe there’s no one normal here after all.

(Page 43)

The three of you sure are weird.

That’s basically the easiest way for Aran to put it.

From the twins being plain  _ rude  _ in the middle of the clinic debriefing, complaining about the mentor being a setter instead of a spiker, all the way to their outrageous back and forth chatter of this and that which constantly leaves Aran’s head spinning with flat retorts he doesn’t say. You’re the weird middle-man between those two whackos, and you’re a little strange yourself, but you’re pretty darn nice, so Aran has a harder time thinking  _ weird  _ when it comes to you.

At first, he might’ve… unfairly pegged you as a sort of tag-along for the twins. Atsumu’s loud and obnoxious and his brother is quiet and just as obnoxious —but they’re both pretty darn good at volleyball, he can already see that, and you’re not so bad either with rather solid receives and unrelenting tenacity for jumping toward the ground without hesitating— and you’re just kinda simple and content. Wherever they go you’re either right behind or tucked in between, and it seems they pretty much call all the shots.  _ At first, at least. _

Aran’s just left plain confused as he watches. Cause wherever you go, the twins follow, hands behind their heads or just lazily following after you. They’re a pretty funny sight, with you leading some sort of brigade. The three of you are definitely friends, or maybe family. They complain during clean-up time but they still do it when you pick up balls and they just get a sort of system working between the three of you that leaves you with the least amount of work. It seems a bit like the three of you have got each other on some kind of three-way leash and it’s bizarre and funny and just plain confusing.

For as loud and rude as the twins are, they sure still are pretty popular.  _ Charisma,  _ Aran thinks, or maybe people are just plain whack these days. Wherever they’re shuffled they can get along just fine, but to Aran’s horror they usually turn around and bad mouth anyone who lags on their group without remorse.

To Aran’s  _ greater  _ horror, the tongue lashing those two can give to other kids is pretty terrifying, and they don’t do it with too much regret, but it’s when they turn to you to share their thoughts that Aran’s mouth drops, whirling around.

“He totally fumbled,” Atsumu complains. “Again!”

“Wish they’d just switch teams already,” Osamu agrees. “He sucks.”

“That’s not nice,” you say simply to them. “Don’t be jerks.”

Aran thinks they’re just about to turn their tongue lashing at you, or break out into a round of relentless teasing like they do to the other girls that try to be a little too stern on lectures. But instead Atsumu and Osamu just pout their lips, looking at you like you just told them they couldn’t watch their favorite tv show.

“But (Y/nnnnnnnn) —”

“Don’t be rude,” you say again, tying your laces into three knots again. Aran’s sure you must be terrified of tripping or something. “Be nice.”

“Yeah, Tsumu,” Osamu says, rounding on his brother. “ _ Be nice _ .”

“Shut up, Samu! You just agreed with me!”

“I didn’t start it, you did.”

“Tsumu-san, you mess up too,” you say, standing beside a disappointed looking Osamu.

“Ya dirty rat!”

It’s a weird skit the three of you have going on. Aran’s not sure what to think of it.

You’re not really much of a stand out in that regard either. You seem to get along with people fine, not getting into too much trouble or clamor. Maybe you’re less weird than Aran thought.

A ball rolls at his feet.

“Ojiro-san, can you toss that one over?”

Aran quickly turns, spotting you waving him down a few feet away. You frown at his startled expression and say something to a few boys next to you, jogging over to him. Aran jolts, realizing he completely blanked out, surprised that you’d called him when he was in the middle of thinking about you — _ woah, woah, stop right there, that has dangerous context! _

“O-Oh, sorry ‘bout that!” he quickly stoops down, fumbling for the ball. You smile pleasantly in front of him, holding your hands out and he nearly tosses it at you. “Here!”

“Thank you,” you say. You hold, the ball, still standing beside him and Aran starts to sweat, feeling a little guilty for no reason at all. “That was a really good serve earlier. I’m not too good a them yet.”

“O-Oh, thanks!” Aran says. He coughs, cooling himself. “Your receives are great though. I’m not that good yet either.”

Your eyes brighten a bit, blinking at Aran. He sweats, worried he might’ve said something wrong until you smile at him, warm and friendly and lift your ball up.

“Ojiro-kun, you’re a nice guy,” you say kindly. “Let’s pair up on the next rotation.”

“Oh, uh, sure?”

You beam, scampering off with your ball. Aran stares after you, a little bewildered again when two bodies suddenly appear on either side of him, peering up with sneaky, mischievous eyes—enough to give him chills for days.

“Aran-kun, Aran-kun,” they both chorus, setting hands on opposite hips. “Whatcha starin’ at?”

“Ya got a crush?”

“Oooh, is that it?”

“On (Y/n)?”

“You’ve got some funny tastes.”

“This is like the fourth time we talked!” Aran shouts, throwing his hands in the air. Osamu and Atsumu cackle, running off. “Knock it off! And isn’t that rude to say about your friend?”

“We’re joking, we’re joking—”

“Yeah, take a joke—”

A ball comes rolling with fast purpose, as though it’d been kicked. It knocks into Osamu’s shins and he topples, taking his brother down with him like a two-paired domino. Aran gapes, holding a hand over his mouth to quit his laughter when his eyes swing around to where you frown at the twins, making a face.   
“That’s a cheap shot, (Y/n)!”

“Ya played dirty.”

“Stop being rude.”

Aran kind of wonders if he should’ve chosen the other clinic times after all. It might’ve saved him a few years of his life.

_ “That means you’re going to live a very nice, very long life!” _

Oh, yeah. You did say that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually really, really eager to get into their older years, but a bigger portion of stuff just happens when they're younger. We'll get into the more meat of things, but hopefully all this is pretty fun to read too! I'm excited to have Aran, he's a great guy.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. information, a thread, and a video

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The video presented to you today is brought to you by the collected efforts and works of our staff here at the Hyogo Prefecture Community Center and Municipal Government. Please watch the following information with care, and answer any and all questions your children may have.
> 
> We strive for an equal, enjoyable society. No one gender is better than the other!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we got some thing's cookin' in the over with this one my friends
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR CONTINUOUS SUPPORT, THANK YOU. JFC. I CAN'T THANK YOU ALL ENOUGH FOR TAKING THE TIME OUT TO READ AND ENJOY THIS STORY, IT'S SUCH A PLEASURE TO WRITE FOR YOU ALL, YOU'RE ALL SO WHOLESOME AND AMAZING ADN SHFIEFSERFOER GOD DAMN IT LOVE U GUYS.

(Page 44)

It’s spring when the information you’ve always wanted but feared getting falls into your hands.

The school year is almost over.

You stare at the little information packet in front of you, hands settled on your lap.

All your classmates sit with similar packets, some paying rapt attention while others seem indifferent or simply amused by the whole ordeal, glad to be taking a break from your usual studies.

Atsumu and Osamu fall into the later two, indifferent or snickering as the two fool around their desks surrounding yours. Osamu lazily flips through the pamphlet, focusing more on pictures while Atsumu doesn’t even touch his, more focused on chatting your ear off as he talks about the last little practice match you guys had at the volleyball clinic the other day. You attempt to be sandwiched into that category beside them, feigning indifference as you stare at the pamphlet and nod along to Atsumu’s words.

_ “Learning About Your Second Genders and Society.” _

Your fingers curl tightly into your hands, nearly biting into your palms.

“Everyone, be respectful during these films,” your teacher orders, glaring at all of you and daring any idiots to do otherwise. “It’s  _ crucial  _ you all understand this—it’s just a natural part of our lives and growing up. We’ll be having a quiz at the end to make sure all of you were paying attention.”

A chorus of groans follow the announcement and he narrows his eyes, waving his pamphlet. “Should I make it an exam instead? Take this seriously. No disrespect or talking allowed, got it? We’ll be starting it now unless anyone has any questions.”

“Are we gonna be coverin’ everything in the packet?” someone asks.

“Do we hafta take notes?” 

“How long is it?”

“Isn’t this all stuff we already know?”

“We’ll be covering everything in the pamphlet,” your teacher answers, pointing to his own. “You can take notes if you want but you don’t have to. Just long enough to cover class but it’ll go on longer if we need it too. Yes, you’ve already touched on the basics of this plenty of times, maybe with your family or in classes before, but we’re going over it now and you’ll be going over it again in middle school when ya get closer to presenting too.”

A few of your classmates start curiously leafing through the pamphlet and you do the same, trying not to seem too eager as you flip it right to the front page. A series of friendly caricatures are presented within the glossy pages, a table of contents coupled with little children faces meant to help guide them through the learning process, just a little less child friendly than what they got in first or second grade.

“Can’t wait for practice tonight,” Atsumu rattles beside you, leaning back and throwing his arms behind his head. “Let’s convince the coach to put us on the same team. It’ll be fun. Ain’t no one can beat us.”

“Mhm,” you say. Atsumu looks satisfied with your response and Osamu rolls his eyes, leaning his head onto his hand as he looks forward to the projector.

Your teacher claps his hands together. “Are we done?”

“Yes, sensei!”

“Then let’s start. Remember! Take it seriously!”

You turn your eyes forward up to the screen, slowly wrapping your fingers around a pen to scribble notes onto your pamphlet.

The projector whirs to life. The informational movie starts.

(Page 45)

_ “You see everyone, as you’ve probably already been told several times now, in our biology, everyone is born with two genders.”  _ A soft, gentle looking woman takes up the screen, pointing to the colorful representations of the three genders—alpha, beta and omega.  _ “This is perfectly normal, and it’s been a part of our society for as long as we’ve known it.” _

A young, burly looking young man stands under the  _ omega  _ symbol, a clear indication of trying to dissuade any kind of stereotypes. It’s enough to say how modern the film is compared to older ones. He smiles, looking proud. A polite young woman stands beneath the  _ beta  _ symbol while a quiet, almost lanky man stands underneath the  _ alpha  _ symbol. The three of them all smile and shake hands, pointing at the little signs above their heads.

_ “We’re here today to explain to you and your classmates all the bits and pieces that might’ve been missed when going over information on second genders,”  _ the woman narrator continues. She wears a  _ beta  _ nametag on her uniform.  _ “Make sure you take a good look at your pamphlets as well. Now, first we’ll start with our alpha friends.” _

She and the young man who’d stood under the alpha symbol walk over to a series of charts listing qualities and specifics, the video focuses on them, showing small cartoon caricatures of the young man as he bounces between them.

_ “You might’ve been told that being an alpha is the most ideal out of the three genders. A lot of people feel like alphas stand at what they’d like to call  _ the top of the food chain  _ but that’s actually not true at all. It’s a very outdated line of thought we don’t think should be kept.” _

The video showed a group of young students running a relay. A girl starts to pull ahead of the rest, running as hard as she can and crossing the finish line with a gap between her and the other classmates.

_ “People will say that alphas are typically born better. The correct way to understand this is to start with the genetics. Now, alphas are typically coded with the genes that allow them to grow bigger, to be a little stronger and maybe faster than others. But that doesn’t really make them better now, does it? Alphas are born like this because it was typically their job in the old days to defend, protect, and look after their families.” _

The video shows the girl turning around, proudly wearing a  _ beta  _ symbol as she smiles. The boy who’d come in second wears the  _ alpha  _ one.  _ “We live in the kind of world where we don’t have to worry about those things as much as those in the past did. Being born an alpha only means you have to go through a few different changes compared to others!” _

The video shows a charming young man going in for an interview. He smiles, steady and well-framed—he looks strong and healthy, easily the kind of person anyone could get along with. The woman’s voice continues,  _ “Some like to believe that being an alpha will give you an edge in society or a little boost. It’s not very true though. Some jobs might want workers who are bigger, some might want workers who are smaller, it all depends on just finding the right fit!” _

A young, thin man smiles as he works in a library, quietly shelving books. He wears the  _ alpha  _ symbol.  _ “The same way your more outgoing classmate might want to run to be representative, someone who’s a bit more shy might want to help in the library. It all depends on the person, not their gender!” _

The video shifts and a boy starts examining his canines in the mirror, looking upset.  _ “For alphas, growing larger canines is all part of the usual process. This is just a part of who you are, so don’t worry!” _

Two cartoon women appear on the screen, clearly angry with each other. They both open their mouths and their canines show, prominent and gleaming as the cartoon overexaggerates their anger.  _ “An important responsibility of being an alpha however is the use of your fangs. Dropping fangs is a very, very rude thing to do, and should only be done in self-defense or if you feel like you need to protect yourself or someone else. _

The cartoon shows a crying girl with the omega symbol over her head, sitting on the ground behind one of the alpha girls.

_ “Dropping your fangs is like telling someone you want to fight, but we don’t do things like that. We use our words! You could get in serious trouble for doing this, you know? You might also harm the people around you because of the pheromones that get released, but we’ll talk more about that later.” _

The screen changes, showing a few content, amiable looking people. The woman reappears again, smiling.  _ “Next are betas! Now, this one won’t take too long.”  _ There’s a pause for laughter.  _ “Betas make up the most of our general population. Their genetics aren’t coded for anything particular the way omegas and alphas are, and they really help balance everything out. Betas are very important! Beta senses are usually less powerful than omega and alpha senses, but it doesn’t mean they can’t do anything just as well, right?” _

The video rolls on. Logistics are explained, coupled with informative numbers, things to expect when it comes to heats and ruts, but just the basics, a detail on the anatomy of the second genders and why they might defer and the difference in genes and then—

_ “Last are our good friends, the omegas!”  _ the woman hugs another woman, smiling demurely as she wears the omega symbol.  _ “Omegas, just like alphas _ — _ did you hear that? Just like alphas! We’re not so different, are we? Just like alphas, omegas have very strong, very keen senses. The omega biology is a bit different because their body types are made to make starting families much, much easier.” _

The video shows a happy family, two women smiling as they hold their child between their arms.  _ “Omegas have a very, very special role. Even more special than alphas. They have the power to be the best parents anyone could ever ask for. They’re given everything they need to make a family, which is something not everyone can do.” _

The woman continues,  _ “Omegas might seem smaller than others, and some people might say they even seem weak, but you have to be pretty strong to raise a kid, don’t you think? One day when you might want to start raising your own families, you’ll see what I mean! Omegas are more sensitive to the moods and the scents of everyone around them, even more than alphas. They have the strongest senses of smell when it comes to picking up pheromones, and their pheromones can be very powerful, so they have to be careful not to hurt anyone else or themselves.” _

The slides change. The woman smiles, pointing to the charts.  _ “That brings us to one of our most important topics today! Pheromones. Do you ever notice that someone smells a certain way? Or that maybe that smell changes when someone’s upset or feeling happy? Those smells are because of what we are capable of giving off _ — _ pheromones. Understanding how to use your pheromones is very important in our society. A little change in them can turn the whole mood in the room upside down. They help us tell people we’re upset, we’re happy, or maybe that we might need help without even saying a single thing!” _

The woman beams, clapping her hands together.

_ “Without pheromones, the whole world could fall apart!” _

(Page 46)

“Finally!” Atsumu kicks his legs out, looking ready to bolt out of his seat as the screen finally shuts off. The rest of their classmates let out similar groans, some eagerly start to chatter amongst themselves or break out into the usual talk, the film already forgotten. “I thought it’d never end. Why do they hafta kiddy code all that stuff? ‘s so stupid.”

“The cartoons started to annoy me,” Osamu admits. “Didya see the nose on that guy?”

“Or the ears on that lady?”

The two of them snicker. Atsumu shoves at his brother’s shoulders and Osamu kicks at Atsumu’s ankles, forcing them into a louder round of laughter.

“I can’t wait till we present,” a girl sighs, propping her hand on her hands as she dreamily looks upwards. “It’d be nice to be an omega!”

“Are ya kiddin?” another girl says. “Being an omega sucks. You’d rather be an alpha.”

“But it’s nice! Ya get to meet someone and get taken care of yer whole life… plus I like kids!”

“That’s true,” another girl chimes in. “Bein’ a beta can be so boring. Being an omega is better.”

“But there are so many perks with being an alpha!”

“But if yer an alpha, ya gotta deal with people always wanting to be yer friend.”

“Omegas have it easy.”

“No, betas do!”

Atsumu sticks a finger into his mouth, mimicking gagging at the conversion. Osamu pretends to pinch his nose, raising his head and wafting away the invisible stench. The two of them snort, trying to hold their laughter short of getting them smacks to the head as your teacher tries to get his papers together.

The two of them look at each other, sharing a look before their sharp eyes slide sideways, turning over to you.

Your nose is buried in the pamphlet, brows scrunching up as you try to understand a particular passage in the pamphlet about the different scents people might give off and how they’re different for everyone. Your leg taps a bit restlessly against your desk, focused on what you were looking at.

“Always the studious one,” Osamu says.

“Ya really care about all this junk?” Atsumu adds, looking at you in disbelief. “Ya used ta get huffy when people brought it up but then we thought ya stopped caring!”

“I don’t feel any special way toward it,” you say carefully. You thumb the side of the pamphlet, finally lowering it and facing the twins. It’s polite to look at who you’re talking to, after all. “To be honest, my mom doesn’t talk too much about it, so I was just curious over some stuff.”

_ “It’s all stupid.” _

“Probably cause it just doesn’t really matter and she knows it,” Atsumu says with a shrug. You bob your head in agreement. “But these pamphlets are kinda dumb anyway. Ya can just read in the library or look it up.”

“If anyone has any more questions, see me in the faculty office after school!” your teacher adds to all of you over the chorus of noise. “We test in ten minutes!”

“Tsumu,” Osamu says, looking distrubed. “Suggestin’ the  _ library _ ?”

“I’ll smack yer head sideways with some books. Ya think I’m an idiot?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re half as smart as me, dumbass—”

“He ain’t wrong though,” Osamu ignores his spitting brother, opening up his pamphlet beside yours. “See? Look at this junk.”

Osamu points to a friendly drawing of a little girl wearing the omega symbol holding a flower while a girl holding a ball wears the alpha symbol, both of them smiling. “The old lady who used ta live next to us, remember the scary one? Ma said she was an omega but she was always kicking and boxing, ready to beat the crap outta us.”

“I remember her! She was a monster,” Atsumu says. “Wait, but ain’t that because we kept runnin’ into her garden?”

“Aw, shoot. I think yer right.”

“...it is kind of dumb, right?” you say a bit hesitantly, looking over Osamu shoulder. They bob their heads in unison. “But they kept talking about how we’re all the same, so I guess it’s not all bad.”

“Yeah, but if they think it’s that easy then they’re the real fools,” Atsumu says. You glance up to him in surprise. “Think we’re all just gonna hold hands.  _ Pfft.  _ People always got somethin’ to say about anyone.”

“Guess that  _ does  _ make us all the same though,” Osamu says sagely. Atsumu rolls his eyes.

“...you don’t think we’re all the same?” you ask slowly, feeling your fingers start rubbing against each other. “That there really is a difference or… I dunno, that one’s better than the other?”

Atsumu looks up at the ceiling while Osamu looks down at the floor, the two of them mulling over your question. You almost smile a bit, hiding your laugh.

“I dunno, I guess it depends?” Atsumu says, actually looking a bit thoughtful. “I don’t really care about this junk unless it helps  _ me _ . Otherwise it’s just annoyin’. If yer given an advantage, then it depends on how ya use it. If you’ve got somethin’ less, then it depends how ya make up for it. If ya can’t compensate, then yer just a loser.”

Loser.

“That kinda logic only applies to ‘Tsumu though,” Osamu says to you. “So take it with a grain of salt.”

“No… it makes sense,” you say. “At the end of the day, it’s just about what you can do, not anything else, right?”

“Basically,” Atsumu says.

“Ya got a preference for one of them, (Y/n)?” Osamu asks, looking up at you through his lashes. You pretend to think it over before nodding once. “Which one?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” you try to say nonchalantly. “But being a beta just seems the easiest, doesn’t it?”

“Well, ya ain’t wrong,” Atsumu says, resting his cheek on his palm. “Fits ya I guess.”

“Right?” you say, a bit of excitement creeping into your voice. “I’m not really cut out for the other two. How about you guys? Are you ever…”

You trail over, remembering your conversations before and the things everyone always says when it comes to the twins. The Miya parents were both alphas, which usually lead to the same occurring when it came to their children unless the potential for an older second gender was strong enough to come through.

“Our mom’s parents were alpha and beta,” Osamu says.

“Pop’s folk were both alphas too,” Atsumu finishes. “Pretty sure we’re just gonna be alphas.”

You curiously press your fingers together, mulling over this. Your mother’s words from before hang in the corners of your minds, pressing into the bright image of Mina Miya and her husband welcoming you into their home, grinning the same as their sons. You think about Atsumu and Osamu, and how that would change… and how it wouldn’t.

You can’t help but rub the side of your head, frowning a bit.

“Has that ever bothered you guys before?” you question softly. Osamu glances over to you, expression settled while Atsumu continues to play with the edge of his desk, looking bored. “Being alphas?”

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” a voice picks up from the other side of the room, but you don’t really hear it, too focused on waiting for the replies of your friends. A few girls are gathered around Ran as she laughs, waving her hand. “Being an omega must be nice! You hardly have to do a thing, and it’s so easy for them to find alphas who will fall over themselves to be with ‘em just because it’s in their DNA.”

Ran’s lips pull up, her smile brighter.

“Omegas get it  _ easy. _ ”

Atsumu leans back into his chair. Osamu’s eyes are focused on the other side of the room, over the top of your head while you wait for their reply.

“Dunno,” Osamu says vaguely.

“It just depends,” Atsumu finishes for him.

You nod in a sort of quiet understanding. You might not know personally, what it is that depends just exactly for them, but in a strange sort of way, maybe even selfish, you think you have a vague sense of it.

In the corner of the room Hime looks out the window beside Ran, silent.

(Page 47)

“(L/n)-chan, great serve on that one!” one of the girls from the clinic gushes and you smile at her, wiping sweat off your face with the inside of your shirt. “You’re getting better and better!”

“I got some people to help me practice,” you say, glancing over to where Atsumu and Osamu are laying waste to the team across from them. “Keeps me on my toes.”

The clinic has been nothing but pure fun for the three of you. Rigorous hard work that pushes you three to test the boundaries of this sport you’re starting to fall very, very much in love with. Perhaps more so on the twins’ side, but you love the way it makes you feel and the opportunity it provides. It keeps you busy.

(Busy.)

You pick up the ball, moving back to the line to start serving drills again. One of the coaches calls out for your groups to switch around and you wave politely to the girl, standing on the line as the new round shuffles through.

“You have to help me on serves,” one girl sighs, pitifully moving the ball in her hand. You smile. “I just can’t get enough power to get it over.”

“You just have to keep trying a bit,” you say, moving your arm. “I’m not crazy strong either so I just have to use the momentum to my advantage.”

“Right? It starts to feel like the timing is everything,” the girl pouts. “If we were alphas we’d be plenty strong off the bat. Must be nice for sports.”

You roll the ball between your fingertips again, three times. “Mhm, maybe.”

“Right? You know, people like Yoshi-kun or your friends!” she makes motions with her arm, big and sweeping. “They barely have to do anything.”

“Well,” you say, grinning at her over the top of the ball. “We just have to work harder then.”

She beams, grabbing her ball. “Right!”

“Ojiro-kun,” you say politely as the familiar face makes his way over to you. Aran waves, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hello.”

“Hey, (L/n),” Aran greets back, picking up a ball and standing next to you on the serving line. “Any new fortunes today?”

Your entire smile deflates a bit. A crestfallen expression colors your entire features and Aran looks at you in disbelief. “I missed the broadcast last night… I was so tired after homework I couldn’t hear my alarm. And I almost never miss Madame Fortuna’s broadcasts...”

“Ya set up an alarm for this thing?” Aran says, looking a bit confused by the thought. He continues regardless, “Maybe you can set it up to record next time?”

You almost drop your ball. “You… you can do that?”

“Well… yeah? Most tv’s can. Ya just got a press a few buttons.”

“C-Can you come over to my house?” you say quickly. Aran’s jaw drops and he looks down at you with round eyes. “I’m not sure and we probably tossed the instructions before. You can stay for dinner if you’d like.”

“C-Come over?” Aran squawks. “Why don’t ya just ask the twins? They probably know!”

“I guess,” you murmur, looking a little disappointed. “But Ojiro-kun, you’ve never come to my house before.”

“Y-You’ve never asked before!”

“Hey, now this is a good group!” Aran turns around and you look over his elbow as another boy comes to stand on your side of the court. He’s a cute boy, easy to get along with and always smiling. He’s more than pretty good at volleyball, but not better than Atsumu and Osamu. Not better than Aran in your opinion either. “Now we can actually get some stuff done!”

“Yoshi-kun, don’t be mean!” another girl teases and Yoshi grins, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s start serves, everyone!”

“Hey, Yoshi,” Aran greets. You bob your head once at him, a small wave. Yoshi’s eyes brighten and he comes right over to the two of you, standing on the other side of Aran since you’re on the edge of the other line. “Great game yesterday.”

“Thanks! You too,” Yoshi says. “I almost had the Miyas on the run for once, right? Maybe if we shuffled teams a bit.” 

You bounce your ball against the court, getting a feel for it against your palm. Yoshi glances over to you, smiling brightly, “I saw your set yesterday, (L/n)-chan. You were crazy good!”

“Thank you,” you say politely. “You played really well too.” It was kind of fun to see Atsumu and Osamu scowl a bit here and there.

“Your serves are really strong,” Yoshi continues. “Yer arm’s so small, it seems like it’ll snap but ya hit over everytime. That’s crazy!”

“Thank you,” you say again. Yoshi’s eyes get brighter and he grins, shuffling the ball between his hands. Aran glances over the top of your head briefly.

“Now if it was all of us on a team we’d definitely do some damage,” Yoshi says, laughing. Aran grins. “With the twins too, right? Or maybe against them and we can really duke it out!”

“Maybe!” Aran agrees, looking a little exasperated by the thought. He’d like to get better at volleyball but not at the cost of any kind of nuclear warfare. You bob your head again in agreement. “Do you know what position you want to play?”

“Setter for sure,” Yoshi says. “There’s something about being able to set the ball… it’s awesome! What about you, (L/n)-chan?”

“Libero is pretty fun,” you admit, thinking about it. “But I like spiking too.”

“Yeah, that’s a tough one,” Yoshi agrees. “At least for libero, you don’t have to be super tall though, so that’s always good.” You twirl the ball between your fingertips. “How about all of you guys?”

The other girl and boy on your side of the court eagerly jump into the conversation. Yoshi’s good at that, and he makes easy friends with everyone in the gym, something you noticed because you tended to wish you could do the same. He has a nice way of bringing people into conversations and making them feel included as well.

It’s a lot like the smoothness Atsumu and Osamu operate with, but not entirely quite the same. You’re not really sure how to put your finger on it.

“Libero, huh?” Aran says beside you. “I definitely like spiking more, but I totally know what ya mean. It’s a cool position when it counts.”

“Right?” you say, perking up. “Ojiro-kun, show me your serves.”

“Yeah, it’s a good —wait, huh?”

(Page 48)

“No way, school is so boring!” a girl complains, slumping into her friend. “I wish I could just play volleyball all day. All we did was go on and on about second genders. So  _ ugh _ .”

“We had that too!” another girl says, pointing to them and walking over. “Did you have a really kiddy video?”

“Oh my goodness, yes!”

“I hate the way they try to color code everythin’,” a boy complains, the gathered group from your side of the court tuning in on the conversation. “Making that big guy an omega, do they really expect us ta believe that?”

You stop on the baseline, hesitating just inches from picking up the ball. A few feet down Aran is picking a few up as well, content and unbothered. You blink down at the stripped leather, slowly picking it up.

“I know right? Or the girl who won the race.”

“Nah, that one I can believe. Betas can be just as good.”

“Yeah, if the alpha’s  _ bad _ .”

“How bad do you have to be to suck at what you were  _ born  _ for?”

Your mouth dries. You’re not even really sure why. A part of you wonders if it’s just at the sheer surprise over the fact that you all watched about the same film. Was it because it was your prefecture? Were the ones in Tokyo or Hokkaido any different?

Aran says something about taking the last two and you’re handing it over to him without thinking. You watch Aran’s growingly wide shoulders and turn back to the group of kids, drifting closer to it like you’re sleepwalking. Yoshi notices you and waves you over, making space for you beside them.

“Well, anyone really can do whatever they want,” one girl says. “We’re different from our parents. Not as old, right?”

“But what should be different?” one boy adds.

“Probably the way we treat each other,” another boy says. “People gotta stop bein’ so rude. Doesn’t matter if yer an alpha or not. If ya piss me off, I’ll beat ya up!”

“Hahah, but whether or not  _ you  _ get beat up or them depends, doesn’t it?”

“Aw, shuddap.”

“It’s true though,” Yoshi says amiably. You don’t really speak a word, just listening in on the conversation, trying to understand the ideas of all these students just like you, these kids just like you and why the words they say are so different from how you feel. “We just gotta be right to everyone. It’s not right to be mean for no reason, especially to omegas.”

“Yoshi-kun, you’re so sweet!”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Do we?”

A few of the kids all look at you. Yoshi blinks. You smile a bit awkwardly, playing with the small ends of your ponytail before putting your fingers together in front of you. “It’s more about… being fair with everyone, right?”

“Well, sure,” Yoshi says with a smile. “But not when it comes to like, bad stuff. Ya can’t go around treating omegas badly.”

“Right?” a girl says, nodding quickly. “You have to be sweet and kind to them!”

“Omegas can be plenty strong,” Yoshi says. “It’s not right for anyone else to say otherwise. But just not physically, y’know?”

Yoshi’s words are very kind. None of the children here bear any ill will. You’re absolutely sure of that. Despite that thought, despite that thought,  _ despite that thought _ —

You see your mother in your eyes. You see her at work, hefting the heavy busing trays and setting down the glasses and steaming hot plates. You see her laughing at you as the two of you struggle to push the small couch you’d managed to bargain into the house, failing miserably.

You see her on a snowy night in the middle of winter, holding your hand as she pulls the two of you into the train station, hefting bas over her shoulder while you tote yours along. You see her staying awake while she thinks you’re asleep, tired lines under her eyes as the train rumbles beneath the two of you, just to make sure nothing happens, just to make sure no one follows the tracks.

Your mother is an omega.

The entire time you don’t say a word. Yoshi taps your shoulder a few times, laughing and chatting amiably. The rest of the kids continue to talk without a hitch.

It’s not till Atsumu and Osamu come to finally collect you from other people, herding you out the doors with your bag slung over Atsumu’s shoulder to head to the bus stop, that you finally feel like you’ve woken up from a dream.

“Oh,” you say, when Osamu hands you a hot egg custard bun from the stand you three are stopping out. “I guess I was wrong.”

“What the heck are ya talkin’ about now?”

Really, really wrong.

(Page 49)

“Oh, (L/n)-san, how can I help ya?”

You stand politely outside the faculty office, looking up at your teacher. He smiles, an easy look and it makes the words bubbling up in your throat, simmering nervously beneath your skin as though taboo come out just a bit easier.  _ This is normal. What I’m doing is normal. This is okay. _

Atsumu and Osamu grudgingly went home first without you per your quiet but stubborn demands. They rolled their eyes but relented, saying you were supposed to swing by their house when you got home yourself so they’d know you made it back fine and maybe haggle you into staying over for dinner.

“Sensei, I have a few questions about the video we watched. Is it okay if I ask you?”

“Of course it is,” he says, opening up the door to the rest of the faculty room and ushering you inside. “Let’s take a seat. We can go to the break room for some privacy. Want me to call one of the other teacher’s too or the nurse? She can answer even more questions.”

“Yes, please,” you say. Your teacher nods, moving over to the other side of the room.

A wave of relief rushes over you so fast it almost knocks you off your feet. You shut your eyes for a second, pressing three of your fingertips together before you bob your head, like a reassuring nod and step further into the office.

You feel a little lighter, a little better.

(Page 50)

“Huh? What ya smell like?”

The bus rumbles underneath the three of you. All of your legs still hang over the chair, not quite reaching the floor yet as you sit side by side, sandwiched between the twins. Street lamps flash by outside the window, coupled by the occasional shop sign and the colors splash over the three of you, barely missing the tops of your heads.

“Mhm,” you hum back amiably, holding your small bag in your lap where your clinic uniform and volleyball shoes sit inside beside a small book. Atsumu has his on the floor while Osamu’s hangs off the small latch beside the seat the three of you have taken. The bus shifts again, moving the three of you. You all comfortably bump shoulders, swaying with the turn.

Atsumu scrunches up his nose a bit at the thought, looking at you almost suspiciously. Osamu blinks, as though sleepy, but his eyes are bright in thought. “Ya curious all of a sudden? Did someone say ya smell?”

“No, no, not like that,” you say, but you give yourself an experimental sniff anyway. A little sweaty but you’re fairly certain nothing too bad. The old smell of fabric softener and maybe a hint of your mother’s perfume. The thought makes you smile. “Like, in a more special way. Everyone’s sort of got a smell, right? Like a normal scent or something that makes them a little easier to pick out…”

“Yeah, sure,” Atsumu grunts. “‘s not supposed to be strong enough to care about though. Thinkin’ about how people smell ‘s a little creepy, ain’t it?’

“Well, I’m not trying to be creepy about it,” you pout, leaning back into the old cushioned seat. “Just kind of curious. I feel like it’s hard to smell yourself.”

“I guess so,” Osamu says, leaning his head back as well beside you. He watches the top of the bus, tracking the way the small hand holders sway. “Usually if ya just try hard enough you can kind of get a whiff of people. Everyone’s supposed to be able to do it to an extent, even just a bit, I think.”

“But  _ we  _ always smell people plenty strong,” Atsumu says, wrinkling his nose. “Enough for it to reek like most people do.”

“He ain’t wrong,” Osamu says. You blanch, feeling a little bit more self conscious. “But sure, ya got a bit of a smell too, (Y/n). It changes sometimes on yer mood.”

“It does?” you say, looking up at him curiously. Atsumu rests his chin on one hand, looking out the window and seemingly bored with this entire conversation. “Goodness. It’s not bad or anything is it? Too strong?”

“Naw,” Osamu says easily. “Maybe kinda thick, when ya get worked up over something whether it’s good or bad.” He makes a bit of a thoughtful face and gives the air an experimental sniff.

Osamu turns to you and sniffs again, shutting his eyes as though trying to figure out an ingredient. On instinct you hold out both your hands, offering your wrists to him and the action catches you by surprise for just a second until you rationalize why.  _ Cause our scent glands are there and on our necks… _

Osamu brings his nose closer to your wrists and you grin a bit, lifting your hands onto either side of his face to rub into his cheeks. Osamu snorts, but he turns his head and smells, thoughtful as he looks at the inside of your wrist and then his eyes turn over toward you.

(Something tickles against your skin, winding up your arm and a bit behind your neck.)

“Kinda hard to put a name too,” Osamu says slowly, working his jaw as though tasting something and trying to figure it out. You wait, a little nervous. “‘s on the sweeter side but it’s not too sweet. Not like flowers or anythin’ like that. Kinda like bread or more like… somethin’ warm? Can’t put my finger on it…”

“That’s cause ya suck,” Atsumu snorts. Osamu kicks him under the bench and his brother doesn’t deter, turning with his nose stuck up high in the air and proud, chest all puffed up. You blink at Atsumu, curious. “‘s easy, dumbass.”

“Then just say it, ya idiot.”

“Yer the idiot, idiot—”

You push your hands up into Atsumu’s face. His nose twitches and he scowls at you before he sniffs regardless, leaning his head closer to yours before he snorts and look at his brother as well as he answers.

“Honey,” Atsumu says, sounding smug, but there’s a kind of clouded look in his eye, something that dulls the usual sharp brightness. “You smell like honey.”

You lean back against the bus chair, staring at your wrists in open curiosity. Osamu says something over the top of your head, somewhat admitting Atsumu got it he just couldn’t put his finger on it and Atsumu gloats, reveling in the glory over his brother. 

You bring your wrists to your nose and sniff, soft and quick. You try again, harder and longer.

Nothing.

You set your hands back down in your lap and join back in on the conversation, letting those thoughts fade to the back of your head where they’ll stay for a bit longer.

(But they won’t quite go away.)

(Page 51)

Aran wipes a bit of a sweaty palm off the side of his shorts, shaking his head and mentally reworking the conversation over and over again. There’s really nothing to it. All he’s doing is anything any other normal person or acquaintance would do. He’s the crazy guy for overthinking it so much.

Or maybe it’s because you’re a little weird yourself, in a quiet, polite sort of way sandwiched between the wild, uncaring rambunctiousness of your left and right matching hands who spit and snicker for fun. So there’s always something about normally normal ordeals that make Aran worry a bit that they won’t be so normal.

Well, a guy could hope.

The twins spot him in a few seconds, eyes locking onto his approaching form where they’re pressed up by the wall near their towels and water bottles, a bit away from everyone else but not entirely isolated. Your fluffy yellow towel is folded between theirs, coupled with your water bottle to stand as proof of your presence, even though you don’t seem to be here right now. 

“Aran-kun,” Atsumu and Osamu chorus cheerily, waving over to him. “What’s up? What’s up?”

“Ah, hey,” Aran says. He glances around both of them, half-expecting you to step out of one of their shadows. “Did (L/n)-chan go to the bathroom? I wanted to get yer guy’s—”

“Yo, Atsumu, Osamu!”

Atsumu and Osamu both turn. It almost spooks Aran the way they do it in unison, eyes flickering to the side at Yoshi’s approaching figure before they briefly look back at each other and then to Yoshi again. Aran blinks. “Where did (L/n)-chan go?”

“She went to the bathroom,” Osamu says. Atsumu doesn’t say anything, lip quirking down in the corner as he eyes Yoshi up and down, from his brand new sneakers to his athletic clothes. “What’s up?”

“We were talking about this show,” Yoshi says eagerly, bringing his phone out of his pocket. “I wanted to ask for her number or her mail. Do ya have it?”

“What show?” Atsumu asks. Aran wonders if some weird stroke of luck would have it be the fortune telling one you’re always going on and on about.

“That anime ‘bout the people lookin’ for gold,” Yoshi says. “Do ya watch it too?”

“Sounds okay,” Atsumu says. “Did you catch the MSBY Jackals latest game?”

“Oh, no, I didn’t!” Yoshi says, looking surprised. “I’ll check to see if my brother recorded it. You watch a lot of volleyball, Atsumu?”

“Sure,” Osamu answers for his brother. “We wanna play volleyball after all.”

Yoshi laughs. “Right! Oh, but about (L/n)-chan’s number —”

“She doesn’t have a phone,” Atsumu says, picking at his nails, looking bored. Yoshi looks surprised. Osamu nods beside his brother, offering him a one shouldered shrug. Aran blinks. “Mom never got her one. She might get it later.”

“I see,” Yoshi says, looking disappointed. He searches the gym again, as though to look for you. “How does she normally talk to you guys then?”

“We’re neighbors,” Osamu says at the same time Atsumu says, “Best friends.”

Yoshi grins, unaffected and still jovial. Aran gets a bit of a funny sixth sense that there’s something strange cooking up, but he doesn’t really have the brains to figure out what, or maybe his sixth sense is telling him  _ not  _ to figure out what, so he keeps his mouth shut and waits.

“Ya get along with (Y/n)?” Osamu says, a sort of sleepy look in his eyes. Atsumu’s lids lower and Yoshi nods.

“She’s really cool,” Yoshi says bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. “I gotta go back to my court, but I’ll talk to you guys in a bit! Good luck with your game, I’ll be watchin’!”

Atsumu offers him a single wave, he and his brother watching as Yoshi retreats back to his court. Atsumu’s lip curls and Osamu plays with one end of his hair part, looking bored as he turns his eyes the same time his brother does to each other.

“What a scrub,” they say together. The two of them snicker.

“So whaddya want, Aran-kun?” Atsumu asks, whirling around with an even brighter grin back to Aran. The other boy jumps, realizing he was still there. “Whatcha need?”

“Want to play a set?” Osamu asks.

“We’ll cream ya!”

“I was actually going to get your numbers and (L/n)-chan’s,” Aran says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I guess if she doesn’t have one… my bad. I’ll just get yours?”

Atsumu and Osamu share a look. They seem to consider something for a few seconds, communicating through telepathic brain waves Aran’s almost  _ sure  _ has to exist between the twins. Matching, fox-like grins stretch over their lips and Atsumu crouches beside your bag, fishing around while Aran gapes at him in disbelief at his blatant audacity. Atsumu tugs out a simple colored flip phone, handing it to his brother.

Osamu wordlessly flips what Aran dully realizes must be  _ your  _ phone open, punching a few buttons before he hands it over to Aran. “Go ahead and put yer number in. We’ll tell her ya added it.”

Aran gapes at both of them, looking horrified on your behalf.

“She won’t mind,” they both chorus, not looking remotely guilty or bothered at all. “She’s been meanin’ to get yers anyway.”

Aran stares.

“What, didn’t ya want it?”

Aran opens his mouth. He points to your phone and then to the twins. He blinks. Atsumu and Osamu look confused.

“I think I gotta get a new water bottle,” you say suddenly, appearing right beside the three of them with two other water bottles in tow. Aran’s eyes rigidly move to you in disbeflief as you inspect your water bottle. “I think it’s got a bit of a leak…”

You pause, looking up. Osamu still holds your phone out for Aran to put his number in, Atsumu taking the other two water bottles from you and setting them down. “Oh, hello Ojiro-kun. I’m sorry, I would’ve refilled yours too if you came a bit sooner.”

Aran points to your waterbottle and you nod, smiling kindly. Atsumu and Osamu stand at either of your shoulders, grinning at Aran in a manner that has him seeing nightmares. There’s clearly something at work, something a part of Aran thinks wouldn’t be that hard to figure out if he wanted to, but he wisely decides  _ not  _ to.

“Oh, perfect timing,” you say, taking your phone from Osamu’s fingers. “I’ve been meaning to ask for your number… is it alright if I call you later for help on how to record shows?”

Atsumu and Osamu simply look at Aran from over the top of your head, waggling their brows. Aran can’t quite find the right words to speak, a dozen different thoughts filtering in and about before he finally looks at you, taking your phone and handing you his own.

“Sure.”

You beam. Atsumu and Osamu beam right behind you. Aran thinks he might’ve lost a year or two to his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm in a bit of a rush, so I'll come back and edit the notes, give it a second look over in a few hours or so!)

**Author's Note:**

> Some info on A/B/O Dynamics:
> 
> \- In this world, everyone is born with a secondary gender aside from their first. Ranging from three: alpha, omega, and beta. Most people usually do not "present" their secondary gender until puberty, as early as ten, most commonly at 12, when school-wide physical tests are conducted for each student, or at the latest, 18-20. 
> 
> \- Early characteristics of secondary genders can start to show when children are young, or seem entirely non-existent until their later teenage years. Sometimes parents can pay to have special tests done to tell early what their children will be, though this is usually looked down upon as society drives to force public attention away from age-old stereotypes on secondary genders. 
> 
> \- Alphas are stereotypically considered the "top of the food chain." Those born as alphas show far more athletic skills, seem more charismatic, are stronger and larger than most, and can sometimes tend to be more aggressive. (This is not always the case.) They release a special set of pheromones and grow notably larger canines than any of the other genders, used in the process of "baring fangs" or for later marking a mate. (Alphas still in this day and age tend to have easier times getting accepted into schools and finding jobs.)
> 
> \- Betas are considered the standard "normals." They are also equipped with scent glands on the wrist and neck, but are less effected by pheromones by either gender. 
> 
> \- Omegas are considered "bottom of the food chain" (but public opinion has changed and many advocate otherwise) but narrow-minded thinking is hard to change for some. They typically have more maternal instincts than others, have high and successful fertility rates, and give off a different set of pheromones than the others. Often a source of ridicule and scorn despite their importance to society, "typically" the victims of bullying or outcasting.
> 
> \- They have two special glands on the back of their necks that can be "marked" by an alpha. For marks and properly mated pairs to last, the alpha has to consistently mark the omega for a period of time for the gland to properly settle—omegas have two in case their first mate is a mistake, allowing one wound to heal and giving them the option for a second chance. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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